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THE 



POETICAL WORKS 



OF 



ADELAIDE A. PROCTER 



WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY CHARLES DICKENS 



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AN INTEODUCTION. 



BY CHARLES DICKENS. 



In the spring of the year 1853, 
I observed, as conductor of the 
weekly journal, Household 
Words, a short poem among the 
proffered contributions, very dif- 
ferent, as I thought, from the 
shoal of verses perpetually set- 
ting through the office of such a 
periodical, and possessing much 
more merit. Its authoress was 
quite unknown to me. She was 
one Miss Mary Berwick, 
whom I had never heard of ; and 
she was to be addressed by let- 
ter, if addressed at all, at a cir- 
culating library in the western 
district of London. Through 
this channel. Miss Berwick was 
informed that her poem was ac- 
cepted, and was invited to send 
another. She complied, and be- 
came a regular and frequent con- 
tributor. Many letters passed 
between the journal and Miss 
Berwick, but Miss Berwick her- 
self was never seen. 

How we came gradually to 
establish, at the office of House- 



hold Words, that we knew al! 
about Miss Berwick, I have nev- 
er discovered. But, we settled 
somehow, to our complete satis- 
faction, that she was governess 
in a family; that she went to 
Italy in that capacity, and re- 
turned; and that she had long 
been in the same family. We 
really knew nothing whatevei 
of her, except that she was re 
markably business-like, punctual, 
self-reliant, and reliable : so I 
suppose we insensibly invented 
the rest. For myself, my moth 
er was not a more real person 
age to me, than Miss Berwick 
the governess became. 

This went on until December 
1854, when the Christmas num- 
ber, entitled The Seven Poor 
Travellers, was sent to press. 
Happening to be going to dine 
that day with an old and dear 
friend, distinguished in literature 
as Barry Cornwall, I took 
with me an early proof of that 
number, and remarked, as 1 



IV 



INTRODUCTIOI^. 



laid it on the drawing-room ta- 
ble, that it contained a very 
pretty poem, written by a cer- 
tain Miss Berwick. Next day 
brought me the disclosure that I 
had so spoken of the poem to 
the mother of its writer, in its 
writer's presence ; that I had no 
such correspondent in existence 
as Miss Berwick; and that the 
name had been assumed by Bar- 
ry Cornwairs eldest daughter, 
Miss Adelaide Anne Proc- 
ter. 

The anecdote I have here not- 
ed down, besides serving to ex- 
plain why the parents of the late 
Miss Procter have looked to me 
for these poor words of remem- 
brance of their lamented child, 
strikingly illustrates the hon- 
esty, independence, and quiet 
dignity of the lady's character. 
I had known her when she was 
very young ; I had been hon- 
ored with her father's friendship 
when I was myself a young as- 
pirant ; and she had said at 
home, ''If I send him, in my 
own name, verses that he does 
not honestly like, either it will be 
very painful to him to return 
them, or he will print them for 
papa's sake, and not for their 
own. So I have made up my 
mind to take my chance fairly 
with the unknown volunteers." 

Perhaps it requires an edi- 
tor's experience of the profound- 
ly unreasonable grounds on 



which he is often urged to ac* 
cept unsuitable articles — such 
as having been to school with 
the writer's husband's broth- 
er-in-law, or having lent an al- 
penstock in Switzerland to the 
writer's wife's nephew, when 
that interesting stranger had 
broken his own — fully to appre- 
ciate the delicacy and the self- 
respect of this resolution. 

Some verses by Miss Procter 
had been published in the Book 
OF Beauty, ten years before 
she became Miss Berwick. With 
the exception of two poems in 
the CoRNHiLL Magazine, two 
in Good Words, and others in 
a little book called A Chaplet 
OP Verses (issued in 1862 for 
the benefit of a Night Refuge), 
her published writings first ap- 
peared in Household Words, 
or All the Year Round. 
The present edition contains 
the whole of her Legends and 
Lyrics, and originates in the 
great favor with which they 
have been received by the pub- 
lic. 

Miss Procter was born in Bed- j 
ford Square, London, on the^ 
30th of October, 1825. Her 
love of poetry was conspicuous 
at so early an age, that I have 
before me a tiny album made 
of small note-paper, into which 
her favorite ^passages were cop- 
ied for her by her mother's hand 
before she herself could write. 



INTRODUCTION. 



It looks as if she had carried it 
about as another little girl might 
have carried a doll. She soon 
displayed a remarkable memory, 
and great quickness of apprehen- 
sion. When she was quite a 
young child, she learnt with fa- 
cility several of the problems of 
Euclid. As she grew older, she 
acquired the French, Italian, and 
German languages, became a 
clever piano-forte player, and 
showed a true taste and senti- 
ment in drawing. But, as soon 
as she had completely vanquished 
the difficulties of any one branch 
of study, it was her way to lose 
interest in it, and pass to an- 
other. While her mental re- 
sources were being trained, it was 
not at all suspected in her family 
that she had any gift of author- 
ship, or any ambition to become 
a writer. Her father had no 
idea of her having ever attempted 
to turn a rhyme, until her first 
little poem saw the light in 
print. 

When she attained to woman- 
hood, she had read an extraor- 
dinary number of books, and 
throughout her life she was al- 
ways largely adding to the num- 
ber. In 1853 she went to Turin 
and its neighborhood, on a visit 
to her aunt, a Eoman Catholic 
lady. As Miss Procter had her- 
self professed the Roman Catho- 
lic faith two years before, she 
entered with the greater ardor 



on the study of the Piedmontese 
dialect, and the observation of 
the habits and manners of the 
peasantry. In the former, she 
soon became a proficient. On 
the latter head, I extract from 
her familiar letters, written homo 
to England at the time, two 
pleasant pieces of description. 

A Betrothal. 

" We have been to a ball, of 
which I must give you a descrip- 
tion. Last Tuesday we had just 
done dinner at about seven, and 
stepped out into the balcony to 
look at the remains of the sun- 
set behind the mountains, when 
we heard very distinctly a band 
of music, which rather excited 
my astonishment, as a solitary 
organ is the utmost that toils up 
here. I went out of the room 
for a few minutes, and, on my 
returning, Emily said, * Oh ! that 
band is playing at the farmer'^ 
near here. The daughter is 
fiancee to-day, and they have a 
ball.' I said, < I wish I was 
going ! ' * Well,' replied she, 
* the farmer's wife did call to 
invite us.' * Then I shall cer- 
tainly go,' I exclaimed. I ap- 
plied to Madame B., who said 
she would like it very much, 
and we had better go, children 
and all. Some of the servants 
were already gone. We rushed 
away to put on some shawls, 



VI 



INTRODUCTION, 



and put off an/ shred of black 
we might have about us (as the 
people would have been quite 
annoyed if we had appeared on 
such an occasion with any- 
black), and we started. When 
we reached the farmer's, which 
is a stone's throw above our 
house, we were received with 
great enthusiasm ; the only draw- 
back being that no one spoke 
French, and we did not yet speak 
Piedmontese. We were placed 
on a bench against the wall, and 
the people went on dancing. 
The room was a large white- 
washed kitchen (I suppose), with 
several large pictures in black 
frames, and very smoky. I dis- 
tinguished the Martyrdom of 
Saint Sebastian, and the others 
appeared equally lively and ap- 
propriate subjects. Whether 
they were Old Masters or not, 
and if so, by whom, I could not 
• ascertain. The band were seated 
opposite us. Five men, with 
wind-instruments, part of the 
band of the National Guard, 
to which the farmer's sons be- 
long. They played really ad- 
mirably, and I began to be afraid 
that some idea of our dignity 
would prevent my getting a part- 
ner ; so, by Madame B.'s advice, 
I went up to the bride, and offered 
to dance with her. Such a hand- 
some young woman ! Like one 
of Uwins's pictures. Very dark, 
with a quantity of black hair, 



and on an immense scale. The 
children were already dancing, 
as well as the maids. After we 
came to an end of our dance, 
which was what they call a 
Polka-Mazourka, 1 saw the bride 
trying to screw up the courage 
of her Jiance to ask me to dance, 
which after a little hesitation he 
did. And admirably he danced, 
as indeed they all did, — in ex- 
cellent time, and with a little 
more spirit than one sees in a 
ball-room. In fact, they were 
very like one's ordinary partners, 
except that they wore ear-rings 
and were in their shirt-sleeves, 
and truth compels me to state 
that they decidedly smelt of gar- 
lic. Some of them had been 
smoking, but threw away their 
cigars when we came in. The 
only thing that did not look 
cheerful was, that the room was 
only lighted by two or three oil- 
lamps, and that there seemed to 
be no preparation for refresh- 
ments. Madame B., seeing this, 
whispered to her maid, who dis- 
engaged herself from her part- 
ner, and ran off to the house; 
she and the kitchen-maid pres- 
ently returning with a large tray 
covered with all kinds of cakef 
(of which we are great consum- 
ers and always have a stock), 
and a large hamper full of bot- 
tles of winfe, with coffee and 
sugar. This seemed all very 
acceptable. The fiancee was 



INTRODUCTION. 



Vll 



requested to distribute the eata- 
bles, and a bucket of water being 
produced to wash the glasses in, 
the wine disappeared very quick- 
ly, — as fast as they could open 
the bottles. But, elated I sup- 
pose by this, the floor was sprin- 
kled with water, and the mu- 
sicians played a Monferrino, 
which is a Piedmontese dance. 
Madame B. danced with the 
farmer's son, and Emily with 
another distinguished member of 
the company. It was very fatigu- 
ing, — something like a Scotch 
reel. My partner was a little 
man, like Perrot, and very proud 
of his dancing. He cut in the 
air and twisted about, until I 
was out of breath, though my 
attempts to imitate him were 
feeble in the extreme. At last, 
after seven or eight dances, I was 
obliged to sit down. We stayed 
till nine, and I was so dead beat 
with the heat that I could hardly 
crawl about the house, and in 
an agony with the cramp, it is 
so long since I have danced." 

A Marriage. 

" The wedding of the farmer's 
daughter has taken place. We 
had hoped it would have been in 
the little cfiapel of our house, 
but it seems some special per- 
mission was necessary, and they 
applied for it too late. They all 
iaid. This i* the Constitution. 



There would have been no diffi- 
culty before ! ' the lower classes 
making the poor Constitution 
the scape-goat for everything they 
don't like. So, as it was impos- 
sible for us to climb up to the 
church where the wedding was 
to be, we contented ourselves 
with seeing the procession pass. 
It was not a very large one, for, 
it requiring some activity to go 
up, all the old people remained 
at home. It is not the etiquette 
for the bride's mother to go, and 
no unmarried woman can go to 
a wedding, — I suppose for fear 
of its making her discontented 
with her own position. The 
procession stopped at our door, 
for the bride to receive our con- 
gratulations. She was dressed 
in a shot silk, with a yellow 
handkerchief, and rows of a 
large gold chain. In the after- 
noon they sent to request us to 
go there. On our arrival we 
found them dancing out of doors, 
and a most melancholy afiair it 
was. All the bride's sisters were 
not to be recognized, they hacj 
cried so. The mother sat in the 
house, and could not appear. 
And the bride was sohbipg so 
she could hardly stand ! The 
most melancholy spectacle of all 
to my mind was, that the bride- 
groom was decidedly tipsy. He 
seemed rather affronted at all the 
distress. We danced a Monfer- 
rino ; I with the bridegroom, 



Vlll 



INTRODUCTION. 



and the bride crying the whole 
time. The company did their 
utmost to enliven her by firing 
pistols, but without success, and 
at last they began a series of 
yells which reminded me of a 
set of savages. But even this 
delicate method of consolation 
failed, and the wishing good-by 
began. It was altogether so 
melancholy an affair that Ma- 
dame B. dropped a few tears, and 
I was very near it, particularly 
when the poor niother came out 
to see the last of her daughter, 
who was finally dragged off be- 
tween her brother and uncle, with 
a last explosion of pistols. As 
she lives quite near, makes an 
excellent match, and is one of 
nine children, it really was a 
most desirable marriage, in spite 
of all the show of distress. Al- 
bert was so discomfited by it, 
that he forgot to kiss the bride 
as he had intended to do, and 
therefore went to call upon her 
yesterday, and found her very 
smiling in her new house, and 
supplied the omission. The 
cook came home from the wed- 
ding, declaring she was cured 
of any wish to marry ; but I 
would not recommend any man 
to act upon that threat and make 
her an offer. In a couple of 
days we had some rolls of the 
bride's first baking, which they 
call Madonna's. The musicians, 
it seems, were in the same state 



as the bridegroom, for, in escort- 
ing her home, they all fell down 
in the mud. My wrath against 
the bridegroom is somewhat 
calmed by finding that it is con- 
sidered bad luck if he does not 
get tipsy at his wedding." 

Those readers of Miss Proc- 
ter's poems who should suppose 
from their tone that her mind 
was of a gloomy or despondent 
cast would be curiously mistaken. 
She was exceedingly humorous, 
and had a great delight in hu- 
mor. Cheerfulness was habitual 
with her, she was very ready at 
a sally or a reply, and in her 
laugh {as I remember well) there 
was an unusual vivacity, enjoy- 
ment, and sense of drollery. She 
was perfectly unconstrained and 
unaffected : as modestly silent 
about her productions as she 
was generous with their pecuni- 
ary results. She was a friend 
who inspired the strongest at- 
tachments ; she was a finely sym- 
pathetic woman, with a great 
accordant heart and a sterling 
noble nature. No claim can be 
set up for her, thank God, to the 
possession of any of the conven- 
tional poetical qualities. She 
never by any means held the 
opinion that she was among the 
greatest of human beings ; she 
never suspected the existence of 
a conspiracy on the part of man- 
kind against her ; she never reo- 



INTRODUCTION. 



IX 



ognized in her best friends her 
worst enemies ; she never culti- 
vated the luxury of being misun- 
derstood and unappreciated ; she 
would far rather have died with- 
out seeing a line of her compo- 
sition in print, than that I should 
have maundered about her, here, 
as "the Poet," or "the Poet- 
ess." 

With the recollection of Miss 
Procter as a mere child and as a 
woman fresh upon me, it is nat- 
ural that I should linger on my 
way to the close of this brief 
record, avoiding its end. But, 
even as the close came upon her, 
so must it come here. 

Always impelled by an intense 
conviction that her life must not 
be dreamed away, and that her 
indulgence in her favorite pur- 
suits must be balanced by action 
in the real world around her, 
she was indefatigable in her en- 
deavors to do some good. Nat- 
urally enthusiastic, and conscien- 
tiously impressed with a deep 
sense of her Christian duty to 
her neighbor, she devoted herself 
to a variety of benevolent objects. 
Now, it was the visitation of the 
sick that had possession of her; 
now, it was the sheltering of the 
houseless ; now, it was the ele- 
mentary teaching of the densely 
ignorant ; now, it was the raising 
up of those who had wandered 
and got trodden under foot ; 
now, it was the wider employ- 



ment of her own sex in the gen- 
eral business of life ; now, it was 
all these things at once. Per- 
fectly unselfish, swift to sympa- 
thize and eager to relieve, she 
wrought at such designs with a 
flashed earnestness that disre- 
garded season, weather, time of 
day or night, food, rest. Under 
such a hurry of the spirits, and 
such incessant occupation, the 
strongest constitution will com- 
monly go down. Hers, neithcT 
of the strongest nor the weak- 
est, yielded to the burden, and 
began to sink. 

To have saved her life, then, 
by taking action on the warning 
that shone in her eyes and 
sounded in her voice, would 
have been impossible without 
changing her nature. As lon^ 
as the power of moving about 
in the old way was left to her, 
she must exercise it, or be killed 
by the restraint. And so the 
time came when she could move 
about no longer, and took to her 
bed. 

All the restlessness gone then, 
and all the sweet patience of her 
natural disposition purified by 
the resignation of her soul, she 
lay upon her bed through the 
whole round of changes of the 
seasons. She lay upon her bed 
through fifteen months. In all 
that time, her old cheerfulness 
never quitted her. In all that 
time, not an impatient or a quer- 



INTRODUCTION. 



ulous minute can be remem- 
bered. 

At length, at midnight on the 
2d of February, 1864, she turned 
down a leaf of a little book she 
was reading, and shut it up. 

The ministering hand that had 
copied the verses into the tiny- 
album was soon around her neck, 
and she quietly asked, as the 
clock was on the stroke of one : 
"Do you think I am dying, 
mamma ? " 

" I think you are very, very 
ill to-night, my dear." 

" Send for my sister. My 
feet are so cold. Lift me up ! " 

Her sister entering as they 



raised her, she said : " It has 
come at last ! " And with a 
bright and happy smile looked 
upward, and departed. 
Well had she written : — 

Why shouldst thou fear the beautiful 

angel, Death, 
Who waits thee at the portals of the 

skies, 
Ready to kiss away thy struggling 

breath. 
Ready with gentle hand to close thine 

eyes? 

Oh, what were hfe, if life were all? 

Thine eyes 
Are blinded by their tears, or thou 

wouldst see 
Thy treasures wait thee in the far-off 



And Death, thy friend, will give them 
all to the*. 



CONTENTS. 



♦ ■ 

Page 

Introduction • iii 

LEGENDS AND LYRICS. A BOOK OF VERSES. 
EiEST Series. 

The Angel's Story 1 

Echoes 5 

A False Genius 6 

My Picture 6 

Judge not 7 

Friend Sorrow 8 

- One by One 8 

True Honors 9 

A Woman's Question 14 

The Three Rulers 15 

A Dead Past 16 

A Doubting Heart 16 

A Student . 17 

A Knight-Errant 18 

Linger, O Gentle Time 19 

Homeward Bound 19 

Life and Death 24 

Now 25 

Cleansing Fires 25 

The Voice of the "Wind 26 

Treasures 27 

Shining Stars 28 

Waiting 28 

The Cradle-Song of the Poor 29 



xii CONTENTS, 

Be Strong 80 

God's Gifts 31 

A Tomb in Ghent 33 

The Angel oe Death 39 

A Dream 40 

The Present 41 

Changes 41 

- Strive, Wait, and Pray 41 

A Lament eor the Summer 42 

The Unknown Grave 42 

Give me thy Heart 43 

The Wayside Inn 45 

Voices of the Past 48 

The Dark Side 48 

A First Sorrow 49 

Murmurs 49 

Give 50 

My Journal 50 

A Chain 52 

The Pilgrims 53 

Incompleteness 53 

A Legend of Bregenz 54 

A Parewell 57 

Sowing and Heaping 57 

The Storm 58 

Words 59 

A Love Token 60 

A Tryst with Death 69^ 

Fidelis 61 

A Shadow 62 

The Sailor Boy 62 

A Crown of Sorrow 71 

The Lesson of the War 71 

The Two Spirits 72 

A Little Longer 74 

Grief 75 

The Triumph of Time , . . 77 

A Parting 78 

The Golden Gate 79 

Phantoms 80 

Thankfulness 80 



CONTENTS. xiii 

Home-Sickness 81 

Wishes 82 

The Peace or God 83 

Life in Death and Death in Life . . 83 • 

Recollections . 86 

Illusion 87 

A Vision . 88 

Pictures in the Fire. 89 

The Settlers 90 

Hush! 91 

Hours 93 

The Two Interpreters 93 

iCoMEORT 94 

Home at Last 95 

Unexpressed 96 

Because - 97 

Rest at Evening 97 

A Retrospect 98 

True or Talse 99 

Golden Words 101 



LEGENDS AND LYRICS. 4 BOOK OF VERSES. 
Second Series. 

A Legend of Provence 105 

Envy 114 

Over the Mountain . 114 

Beyond 115 

A Warning 116 

Maximus 117 

Optimus 118 

A Lost Chord 119 

Too Late II9 

The Requital . 120 

Returned — "Missing" 121 

y In the Wood 123 

Two Worlds 123 

A New Mother . . . . • 124 

Give Place 131 

My Will 132 

King and Slavs , 13^ 



XIV CONTENTS. 

A Chant 133 

Dream-Lite 135 

Uest 135 

The Tyrant and the Captive 137 

The Carver's Lesson 138 

Three Eoses 139 

My Picture Gallery . * 140 

Sent to Heaven 142 

Never Again 143 

Listening Angels 144 

Golden Days 145 

Philip and Mildred 146 

Borrowed Thoughts. 

I. From " Lavater " 153 

II. From " Phantastes '* 153 

III. From "Lost Alice" 154 

IV. From * * * 154 

Light and Shade 155 

A Changeling 157 

Discouraged 158 

ir thou couldst know 159 

The Warrior to his Dead Bride 159/ 

A Letter 160 

A Comforter 162 

Unseen 164 

A Eemembrance oe Autumn 165 

Three Evenings in a Life , . 165 

The Wind 172 

Expectation 173 

An Ideal 174 

Our Dead 175 

A Woman's Answer 176 

The Story op the Faithful Soul 178 

A Contrast 179 

The Bride's Dream 181 

The Angel's Bidding 182 

Spring 183, 

Evening Hymn . 184' 

The Inner Chamber 185 

Hearts 185 

Two Loves 187 

A Woman's Last Word .............. . . .187 



CONTENTS. X 

l*AST AND Present 188 

POK THE PUTUKB 189 



A CHAPLET OF VERSES. 

Introduction 195 

The Army op the Lord 199 

The Star op the Sea 302 

The Sacred Heart 302 

The Names op Our Lady 304 

A Chaplet op Plowers 305 

, Kyrie Eleison 307 

The Annunciation 208 

An Appeal 308 

The Jubilee op 1850 310 

Christmas Plowers 311 

A Desire 313 

Our Daily Bread 314 

Threepold 314 

conpido et conquiesco 315 

Ora pro Me 315 

The Church in 1849 316 • 

PisHERS OP Men 316 

The Old Year's Blessing 317 

Evening Chant 318 

A Christmas Carol 319 

Our Titles 320 

Ministering Angels 221 

The Shrines op Mary 222 

The Homeless Poor 236 

Milly's Expiation 331 

A Castle in the Air . 339 

Per Pacem ad Lucem 340 

A Legend 340 

Birthday Gipts 341 

A Beggar 344 

Links with Heaven . . • 345 

Homeless 246 



LEGENDS AND LYRICS, 

A BOOK OF VERSES. 



FIRST SERIES. 



PebitateJl 



MATILDA M. HAYS. 

" Our tokens of love are for the most part barbarous. Cold and lifeless, 
because they do not represent our life. The only gift is a portion of thy- 
self. Therefore let the farmer give his corn ; the miner, a gem ; the 
sailor, coral and shells ; the painter, his picture j and the poet, his poem." 
— Emeeson's Essays. 

A. A. P. 

May, 1858. 



LEGENDS AND LYRICS. 



THE ANGEL'S STORY. 

Through the blue and frosty 
heavens 
Christmas stars were shining 
bright ; 
Glistening lamps throughout the 
City 
Almost matched their gleam- 
ing light ; 
While the winter snow was ly- 
ing, 
And the winter winds were 
sighing, 
Long ago, one Christmas 
night. 

While, from every tower and 
steeple, 
Pealing bells were sounding 
clear, 
(Never with such tones of glad- 
ness, 
Save when Christmas time is 
near,) 
^Many a one that night was 
merry 
Who had toiled through all 
the year. 
1 



That night saw old wrongs for- 
given, 
FriendS; long parted, recon- 
ciled ; 
Voices all unused to laughter. 
Mournful eyes that rarely 
smiled, 
Trembling hearts that feared the 
morrow. 
From their anxious thoughts 
beguiled. 

Rich and poor felt love and 
blessing 

From the gracious season fall ; 
Joy and plenty in the cottage. 

Peace and feasting in the hall ; 
And the voices of the children 

Ringing clear above it all ! 

Yet one house was dim and dark- 
ened ; 
Gloom, and sickness, and de- 
spair. 
Dwelling in the gilded chambers, 
Creeping up the marble stair, 
Even stilled the voice of mourn- 
ing,— 
For a child lay dying there. 



THE ANGEVS STORY. 



Silken curtains fell around him, 
Velvet carpets hushed the 
tread, 

Many costly toys were lying, 
All unheeded, by his bed ; 

And his tangled golden ringlets 
Were on downy pillows spread. 

The skill of that mighty City 
To save one little life was 
vain, — 
One little thread from being 

broken. 
One fatal word from being spo- 
ken ; 
Nay, his very mother's pain, 
And the mighty love within her. 
Could not give him health 
again. 

So she knelt there still beside 
him, 
She alone with strength to 
smile, 
Promising that he should suffer 

No more in a little while, 
Murmuring tender song and 
story 
Weary hours to beguile. 

Suddenly an unseen Presence 
Checked those constant moan- 
ing cries. 
Stilled the little heart's quick 
fluttering. 
Raised those blue and won- 
dering eyes. 
Fixed on some mysterious vision. 
With a startled sweet sur- 
prise. 



For a radiant angel hovered, 

Smiling, o'er the little bed ; 
White his raiment, from his 
shoulders 
Snowy dove - like pinions 
spread, 
And a starlike light was shining 
In a Glory round his head. 

While, with tender love, the an- 
gel. 
Leaning o'er the little nest. 
In his arms the sick child fold- 
ing, 
Laid him gently on his breast, 
Sobs and wailings told the moth- 
er 
That her darling was at rest. 

So the angel, slowly rising. 
Spread his wings, and through 
the air 
Bore the child, and, while he 
held him 
To his heart with loving care, 
Placed a branch of crimson 
roses 
Tenderly beside him there. 

While the child, thus clinging, 
floated 
Towards the mansions of the 
Blest, 
Gazing from his shining guar- 
dian 
To the flowers upon his breast, 
Thus the augel spake, still smil- 
ing 
On the little heavenly guest ; 



THE AN G EDS STORY, 



«Know, dear little one, that 
Heaven 
Does no earthly thing disdain, 
Man's poor joys find there an 
echo 
Just as surely as his pain ; 
Love, on earth so feebly striv- 
ing. 
Lives divine in Heaven again ! 

" Once in that great town below 
us. 

In a poor and narrow street, 
Dwelt a little sickly orphan ; 

Gentle aid, or pity sweet, 
Never in life's rugged pathway 

Guided his poor tottering feet. 

« AH the striving anxious fore- 
thought 
That should only come with 
age 
Weighed upon his baby spirit. 
Showed him soon life's stern- 
est page ; 
Grim Want was his nurse, and 
Sorrow 
Was his only heritage. 

" All too weak for childish pas- 
times. 
Drearily the hours sped ; 
On his hands so small and trem- 
bling 
Leaning his poor aching head, 
Or, through dark and painful 
hours. 
Lying sleepless on his bed. 



" Dreaming strange and longing 
fancies 
Of cool forests far away ; 
And of rosy, happy children. 
Laughing merrily at play. 
Coming home through green 
lanes, bearing 
Trailing boughs of blooming 
May. 

" Scarce a glimpse of azure heav- 
en 
Gleamed above that narrow 
street, 
And the sultry air of summer 
(That you call so warm and 
sweet) 
Fevered the poor orphan, dwell- 
ing 
In the crowded alley's heat. 

'* One bright day, with feeble 
footsteps 
Slowly forth he tried to crawl, 
Through the crowded city's path- 
ways. 
Till he reached a garden-wall. 
Where 'mid princely halls and 
mansions 
Stood the lordliest of all. 

" There were trees with giant 
branches, 
Velvet glades where shadows- 
hide ; 
There were sparkling fountains 
glancing. 
Flowers, which in luxuriant 
pride 



THE ANGEL'S STORY. 



Even wafted breaths of perfume 
To the child who stood out- 
side. 



" He against the gate of iron 
Pressed his wan and wistful 
face, 
Gazing with an awe-struck pleas- 
ure 
At the glories of the place ; 
Never had his brightest day- 
dream 
Shone with half such won- 
drous grace. 



" You were playing in that gar- 
den, 
Throwing blossoms in the air, 
"Laughing when the petals floated 
Downwards on your golden 
hair; 
A.nd the fond eyes watching o'er 

you. 
And the splendor spread before 
you. 
Told a House's Hope was 
there. 



'*When your servants, tired of 
seeing 
Such a face of want and woe, 
Turning to the ragged orphan. 
Gave him coin, and bade him 
go, 
Down his cheeks so thin and 
wasted 
Bitter tears began to flow. 



" But that look of childish sor- 
row 
On your tender child-heart 
fell. 
And you plucked the reddest 
roses 
From the tree you loved so 
well 
Passed them through the stern 
cold grating. 
Gently bidding him * Fare- 
well!' 

" Dazzled by the fragrant treas- 
ure 
And the gentle voice he heard. 
In the poor forlorn boy's spirit, 
Joy, the sleeping Seraph, 
stirred ; 
In his hand he took the flowers. 
In his heart the loving word. 

" So he crept to his poor garret ; 
Poor no more, but rich and 
bright, 
For the holy dreams of child- 
hood — 
Love, and Rest, and Hope, 
and Light — 
Floated round the orphan's pil- 
low 
Through the starry summer 
night. 

"Day dawned, yet the visions 
lasted ; 
All too weak to rise he lay ; 
Did he dream that none spake 
harshly, — 



ECHOES, 



All were strangely kind that 
day? 
Surely then his treasured roses 
Must have charmed all ills 
away. 

** And he smiled, though they 
were fading ; 
One by one their leaves were 
shed ; 
* Such bright things could never 
perish, 
They would bloom again,' he 
said. 
When the next day's sun had 
risen 
Child and flowers both were 
d^ad. 

"Know, dear little one! our 
Father 
Will no gentle deed disdain : 
Love on the cold earth begin- 
ning 
Lives divine in Heaven again, 
While the angel hearts that beat 
there 
Still all tender thoughts re- 
tain ** 

So the angel ceased, and gently 

O^er his little burden leant ; 
While the child gazed from the 
shining. 
Loving eye? that o'er him 
bent, 
To the blooming roses by him, 
Wondering wfiat that mystery 
meant. 



Thus the radiant angel answered, 
And with tender meaning 
smiled : 
" Ere your childlike, loving 
spirit. 
Sin and the hard world defiled, 
God has given me leave to seek 
you, — 
I was once that little child ! " 
* * * * 

In the churchyard of that city 
Rose a tomb of marble rare. 
Decked, as soon as Spring awak- 
ened, 
With her buds and blossoms 
fair, — 
And a humble grave beside it, — 
No one knew who rested there. 



ECHOES. 

Still the angel stars are shining, 
Still the rippling waters flow, 
But the angel-voice is silent 
That I heard so long ago. 
Hark! the echoes murmur 
low, 

Long ago ! 

Still the wood is dim and lonely, 
Still the plashing fountains 
play, 

But the past and all its beauty, 
Whither has it fled away ? 
Hark! the mournful echoes 



say. 



Fled away ! 



MY PICTURE, 



Btill the bird of night complain- 
eth, 
(Now, indeed, her song is 
pain,) 
V'isions of my happy hours, 
Do I call and call in vain ? 
Hark ! the echoes cry again, 
All in vain ! 

Cease, O echoes, mournful echoes ! 

Once I loved your voices well ; 

Now my heart is sick and weary — 

Days of old, a long farewell ! 

Hark ! the echoes sad and 

dreary 

Cry farewell, farewell ! 



A FALSE GENIUS. 

I SEE a Spirit by thy side, 
Purple-winged and eagle-eyed. 
Looking like a heavenly guide. 

Though he seem so bright and 

fair, 
Ere thou trust his proffered care, 
Pause a little, and beware ! 

If he bid thee dwell apart, 
Tending some ideal smart 
In a sick and coward heart ; 

In self-worship wrapped alone. 
Dreaming thy poor griefs are 

grown 
More than other men have known ; 



Dwelling in some cloudy sphere, 
Though God's work is waiting 

here, 
And God deigneth to be near ; 

If his torch's crimson glare 
Show the evil everywhere, 
Tainting all the wholesome air ; 

While with strange distorted 

choice. 
Still disdaining to rejoice, 
Thou wilt hear a wailing voice ; 

If a simple, humble heart 
Seem to thee a meaner part 
Than thy noblest aim and art ; 

If he bid thee bow before 
Crowned Mind and nothing more, 
The great idol men adore ; 

And with starry veil enfold 
Sin, the trailing serpent old, 
Till his scales shine out like gold j 

Though his words seem true and 

wise. 
Soul, I say to thee. Arise, 
He is a Demon in disguise ! 



MY PICTURE. 

Stand this way — more near the 
window — 
By my desk — you see th^ 
light 
Falling on my picture better — ' 
Thus I see it while I write ! 



JUDGE NOT. 



Who the head may be I know 
not. 
But it has a student air ; 
With a look half sad, half stately, 
Grave sweet eyes and flowing 
hair. 

Little care I who the painter. 
How obscure a name he bore ; 

Nor, when some have named 
Velasquez, 
Did I value it the more. 

As it is, I would not give it 
For the rarest piece of art ; 

It has dwelt with me, and lis- 
tened 
To the secrets of my heart. 

Many a time, when to my garret. 

Weary, I returned at night. 
It has seemed to look a wel- 
come 
That has made my poo? room 
bright. 

Many a time, when ill and sleep- 
less, 
I have watched the quivering 
gleam 
Of my lamp upon that picture, 
Till it faded in my dream. 

When dark days have come, and 
friendship 
Worthless seemed, and life in 
vain. 
That bright friendly smile has 
sent me 
Boldly to my task again. 



Sometimes when hard need has 
pressed me 
To bow down where I depise, 
I have read stern words of coun- 
sel 
In those sad, reproachful eyes. 

Nothing that my brain imagined, 
Or my weary hand has 
wrought, 
But it watched the dim Idea 
Spring forth into armed 
Thought. 

It has smiled on my successes. 
Raised me when my hopes 
were low, 
And by turns has looked upon 
me 
With all the loving eyes I 
know. 

Do you wonder that my picture 
Has become so like a friend ? — 

It has seen my life's beginnings. 
It shall stay and cheer the 
end! 



JUDGE NOT. 

Judge not ; the workings of his 
brain 
And of his heart thou cansi 
not see ; 
What looks to thy dim eyes a 
stain, 
In God's pure light may only 
be 



8 



ONE BY ONE. 



A scar, brought from some well- 
won field, 

Where thou wouldst only faint 
and yield. 

The look, the air, that frets thy 

sight. 
May be a token, that below 
The soul has closed in deadly 

fight 
With some infernal fiery foe. 
Whose glance would scorch thy 

smiling grace, 
And cast thee shuddering on thy 

face ! 

The fall thou darest to despise — 

Maybe the angeFs slackened 

hand 

Has suffered it, that he may rise 

And take a firmer, surer stand ; 

Or, trusting less to earthly things, 

May henceforth learn to use his 

wings. 

And judge none lost ; but wait 
and see. 
With hopeful pity, not disdain; 
The depth of the abyss may be 
The measure of the height of 
pain 
And love and glory that may 

raise 
This soul to God in after days ! 



FRIEND SORROW. 

Do not cheat thy Heart and tell 
her, 
" Grief will pass away, 



Hope for fairer times in future, 
And forget to-day." — 

Tell her, if you will, that sorrow 
Need not come in vain ; 

Tell her that the lesson taught 
her 
Far outweighs the pain. 

Cheat her not with the old com- 
fort, 

" Soon she will forget," — 
Bitter truth, alas ! but matter 

Rather for regret; 
Bid her not " Seek other pleas- 
ures. 

Turn to other things " ; — 
Rather nurse her caged sorrow 

Till the captive sings. 

Rather bid her go forth bravely, 

And the stranger greet ; 
Not as foe, with spear and buckler, 

But as dear friends meet : 
Bid her with a strong clasp hold 
her, 

By her dusky wings. 
Listening for the murmured 
blessing 

Sorrow always brings. 



ONE BY ONE. 

One by one the sands are flow- 
ing, 
One by one the moments fall ; 
Some are coming, some are go- 
ing; 
Do not strive to grasp them 
all. 



TRUE HONORS, 



One by one thy duties wait 
thee, 
Let thy whole strength go to 
each, 
Let no future dreams elate thee, 
Learn thou first what these 
can teach. 

One by one (bright gifts from 
Heaven) 
Joys are sent thee here be- 
low; 
Take them readily when given. 
Ready too to let them go. 

One by one thy griefs shall meet 
thee. 
Do not fear an armed band ; 
One will fade as others greet 
thee ; 
Shadows passing through the 
land. 

Do not look at life's long sor- 
row; 
See how small each moment's 
pain, 
God will help thee for to-mor- 
row. 
So each day begin again. 

Every hour that fleets so slowly 
Has its task to do or bear ; 

Luminous the crown, and holy, 
When each gem is set with 
care. 

Do not linger with regretting. 
Or for passing hours despond; 



Nor, the daily toil forgetting. 
Look too eagerly beyond. 

Hours are golden links, God's 
token. 
Reaching heaven ; but one by 
one 
Take them, lest the chain be 
broken 
Ere the pilgrimage be done. 



TRUE HONORS. 

Is my darling tired already. 
Tired of her day of play ? 
Draw your little stool beside me, 
Smooth this tangled hair away. 
Can she put the logs together. 
Till they make a cheerful 
blazed 
Shall her blind old Uncle tell 
her 
Something of his youthful 
days? 

Hark ! The wind among the 
cedars 
Waves their white arms to and 
fro; 
I remember how I watched them 

Sixty Christmas Days ago : 
Then I dreamt a glorious vision 
Of great deeds to crown each 
year; 
Sixty Christmas Days have found 
me 
Useless, helpless, blind — an(l 
here ! 



10 



TRUE HONORS. 



Yes, I feel my darling stealing 

Warm soft fingers into mine : 
Shall I tell her what I fancied 

In that strange old dream of 
mine ? 
I was kneeling by the window, 

Reading how a noble band, 
With the red cross on their 
breastplates. 

Went to gain the Holy Land. 

While with eager eyes of wonder 

Over the dark page I bent. 
Slowly twilight shadows gath- 
ered 
Till the letters came and went ; 
Slowly, till the night was round 
me; 
Then my heart beat loud and 
fast. 
For I felt before I saw it 

That a spirit near me passed. 

Then I raised my eyes, and, 
shining 
Where the moon's first ray 
was bright. 
Stood a winged Angel-warrior 
Clothed and panoplied in 
light : 
So, with Heaven's love upon him. 
Stern in calm and resolute will, 
Looked St. Michael, — does the 
picture 
Hang in the old cloister still 1 

Threefold were the dreams of 
honor 
That absorbed my heart and 
brain ; 



Threefold crowns the Angel 
promised, 
Each one to be bought by pain : 
While he spoke, a threefold bless- 
ing 
Fell upon my soul like rain. 
Helper of the poor and suf- 
fering ; 
Victor in a glorious 
strife; 
Singer of a noble poem : 
Such the honors of my life. 

Ah, that dream ! Long years 
that gave me 
Joy and grief as real things 
Never touched the tender memory 
Sweet and solemn that it 
brings, — 
Never quite effaced the feeling 
Of those white and shadowing 
wings. 

Do those blue eyes open wider 1 
Does my faith too foolish 
seem? 
Yes, my darling, years have 
taught me ' 

It was nothing but a dream. 
Soon, too soon, the bitter knowl- 
edge 
Of a fearful trial rose. 
Rose to crush my heart, and 
sternly 
Bade my young ambition close. 

More and more my eyes were 
clouded. 
Till at last God's glorious 
light 



TRUE HONORS. 



11 



Passed away from me forever, 
And I lived and live in night. 

Dear, I will not dim your pleasure, 
Christmas should be only 
gay: — 

In my night the stars have risen, 
And I wait the dawn of day. 

Spite of all I could be happy ; 

For my brothers* tender care 
In their boyish pastimes ever 

Made me take, or feel a share. 
Philip, even then so thoughtful. 

Max so noble, brave, and tall, 
And your father, little Godfrey, 

The most loving of them all. 

Philip reasoned down my sorrow. 
Max would laugh my gloom 
away, 
Godfrey's little arms put round 
me 
Helped me through my drea- 
riest day ; 
While the promise of my Angel, 
Like a star, now bright, now 
pale. 
Hung in blackest night above me. 
And I felt it could not fail. 

I Years passed on, my brothers 
left me. 
Each went out to take his 
share 
In the struggle of life ; my por- 
tion 
Was a humble one — to bear. 
Here I dwelt, and learnt to wan- 
der 
Through the woods and fields 
alone. 



Every cottage in the village 
Had a corner called my own 

Old and young, all brought their 
troubles. 
Great or small, for me to 
hear; 
I have often blessed my sorrow 
That drew others' grief so 
near. 
Ah, the people needed helping — 
Needed love — (for Love and 
Heaven 
Are the only gifts not bartered, 
They alone are freely given) — 

And I gave it. Philip's bounty 

(We were orphans, dear) made 
toil 
Prosper, and want never fastened 

On the tenants of the soil. 
Philip's name (0, how I gloried, 

He so young, to see it rise !) 
Soon grew noted among states- 
men 

As a patriot true and wise. 

And his people all felt honored 
To be ruled by such a name ; 
I was proud too that they loved 
me; 
Through their pride in him it 
came. 
He had gained what I had longed 
for, 
I meanwhile grew glad am 
gay, 
'Mid his people, to be serving 
Him and them, in some poor 
waj. 



12 



TRUE HONORS. 



How his noble earnest speeches 
With untiring fervor came ! 
Helper of the poor and 
Suffering ; 
Truly he deserved the name ! 
Had my Angel's promise failed 
me? 
Had that word of hope grown 
dim? 
Why, my Philip had fulfilled 
it, 
And I loved it best in him ! 

Max meanwhile — ah, you, my 
darling, 
Can his loving words recall — 
'Mid the bravest and the no- 
blest, 
Braver, nobler, than them 
all. 
How I loved him ! how my heart 
thrilled 
When his sword clanked by 
his side. 
When I touched his gold em- 
broidery, 
Almost saw him in his pride ! 

So we parted ; he all eager 

To uphold the name he bore, 
Leaving in my charge — he 
loved me — 
Some one whom he loved still 
more : 
I must tend this gentle flower, 
I must speak to her of him, 
For he feared — Love still is 
fearful — 
That his memory might grow 
dim. 

I must guard her from all sor- 
row, 
I must play a brother's part, 



Shield all grief and trial from 
her, 
If it need be, with my heart. 
Years passed, and his name 
grew famous ; 
We were proud, both she 
and I; 
And we lived upon his let- 
ters, 
While the slow days fleeted by. 

Then at last — you know the 
story, 
How a fearful rumor spread, 
Till all hope had slowly faded, 
And we heard that he was 
dead. 
Dead ! 0, those were bitter 
hours ; 
Yet within my soul there 
dwelt 
A warning, and while others 
mourned him. 
Something like a hope I felt. 

His was no weak life as mine 
was. 
But a life, so full and strong — 
No, I could not think he per- 
ished 
Nameless, 'mid a conquered 
throng. 
How she drooped ! Years pass- 
ed ; no tidings 
Came, and yet that little flame 
Of strange hope within my 
spirit 
Still burnt on, and lived the 
same. 

Ah! my child, our hearts will 
fail us. 
When to us they strongest 
seem : 



TRUE HONORS. 



13 



1 can look back on those hours 

As a fearful, evil dream. 
She had long despaired; what 
wonder 
That her heart had turned to 
mine ? 
Earthly loves are deep and ten- 
der, 
Not eternal and divine ! 

Can I say how bright a future 

Rose before my soul that day ? 
0, so strange, so sweet, so tender ! 

And I had to turn away. 
Hard and terrible the struggle, 

For the pain not mine alone ; 
I called back my Brother's spirit, 

And I bade him claim his own. 

Told her — now I dared to do 
it — 
That I felt the day would rise 
When he would return to glad- 
den 
My weak heart and her bright 
eyes. 
And I pleaded — pleaded stern- 

ly- 

In his name, and for his sake : 
Now, I can speak calmly of it. 
Then, I thought my heart 
would break. 

Soon — ah. Love had not de- 
ceived me, 
(Love's true instincts never 
err, ) 
Wounded, weak, escaped from 
prison. 
He returned to me, — to her. 



I could thank God that bright 
morning. 
When I felt my Brother's 
gaze, 
That my heart was true and 
loyal. 
As in our old boyish days. 

Bought by wounds and deeds of 
daring, 
Honors he had brought away ; 
Glory crowned his name — my 
Brother's ; 
Mine too ! — we were one that 
day. 
Since the crown on him had 
fallen, 
" Victor in a noble strife," 
I could live and die contented 
With my poor ignoble life. 

Well, my darling, almost weary 

Of my story ? Wait awhile ; 
For the rest is only joyful ; 

I can tell it with a smile. 
One bright promise still was left 
me. 

Wound so close about my soul. 
That, as one by one had failed me. 

This dream now absorbed the 
whole. 

" Singer op a noble Poem," — 

Ah, my darling, few and rare 
Burn the glorious names of 
Poets, 
Like stars in the purple air. 
That too, and I glory in it, 
That great gift my Godfrey 
won ; 



14 



A WOMAN'S QUESTION-. 



I have my dear share of honor, 
Gained by that beloved one. 

One day shall my darling read 
it; 
Now she cannot understand 
All the noble thoughts that 
lighten 
Through the genius of the 
land. 
I am proud to be his brother, 
Proud to think that hope was 
true; 
Though I longed and strove so 
vainly, 
What I failed in, he could do. 

I was long before I knew it, 

Longer ere I felt it so ; 
Then I strung my rhymes to- 
gether 

Only for the poor and low. 
And, it pleases me to know it, 

(For I love them well indeed,) 
They care for my humble verses, 

Fitted for their humble need. 

And, it cheers my heart to hear 
it, 
Where the far-off settlers roam, 
My poor words are sung and 
cherished. 
Just because they speak of 
Home. 
And the little children sing them, 
(That, I think, has pleased me 
best,) 
Often, too, the dying love them, 
For they tell of Heaven and 
••est. 



So my last vain dream has fadod ; 
(Such as I to think of fame !) 
Yet I will not say it failed me, 
For it crowned my Godfrey's 
name. 
No ; my Angel did not cheat me, 
For my long life has been 
blest ; 
He did give me Love and Sor- 
row, 
He will bring me Light and 
Rest. 



A WOMAN'S QUESTION. 

Before I trust my Fate to thee, 
Or place my hand in thine. 

Before I let thy Future give 
Color and form to mine. 

Before I peril all for thee, question 
thy soul to-night for me. 

I break all slighter bonds, nor 
feel 
A shadow of regret : 
Is there one link within the Past 

That holds thy spirit yet ? 
Or is thy Faith as clear and free 
as that which I can pledge to 
thee? 

Does there within thy dimmest 
dreams 
A possible future shine, 
Wherein thy life could hence- 
forth breathe, 
Untouched, unshared by mine? 
If so, at any pain or cost, O, tel/ 
me before all is lost. 



THE THREE RULERS. 



15 



Look deeper still. If thou canst 
feel 
Within my inmost soul, 
That thou hast kept a portion 
back, 
While I have staked the 
whole ; 
Let no false pity spare the blow, 
but in true mercy tell me so. 

is there within thy heart a need 

That mine cannot fulfil ? 
One chord that any other hand 

Could better wake or still 1 
Speak now — lest at some fu- 
ture day my whole life 
wither and decay. 



Lives there within thy nature 
hid 
The demon-spirit Change, 
Shedding a passing glory still 
On all things new and 
strange ? — 
It may not be thy fault alone — 
but shield my heart against 
thy own. 

Could st thou withdraw thy hand 
one day 
And answer to my claim, 

That Fate, and that to-day's mis- 
take — 
Not thou — had been to 
blame ? 

Some soothe their conscience 
thus ; but thou wilt sure- 
ly warn and save me nowo 



Nay, answer not^ — I dare not 
hear. 
The words would come too 
late; 

Yet I would spare thee all re- 
morse. 
So, comfort thee, my Fate — 

Whatever on my heart may fall 
— remember, I would risl? 
it all ! 



THE THREE RULERS. 

I SAW a Ruler take his stand. 
And trample on a mighty land; 
The People crouched before hi 3 

beck, 
His iron heel was on their neck, 
His name shone bright through 

blood and pain. 
His sword flashed back their 

praise again. 

I saw another Ruler rise : 

His words were noble, good, and 

wise ; 
With the calm sceptre of his pen 
He ruled the minds and thoughts 

of men : 
Some scoffed, some praised,— 

while many heard. 
Only a few obeyed his word. 

Another Ruler then I saw : 
Love and sweet Pity were his 

law; 
The greatest and the least had 

part 



16 



A DOUBTING HEART, 



(Yet most the unhappy) in his 

heart : 
The People, in a mighty band, 
Rose up, and drove him from 

the land ! 



A DEAD PAST. 

Spare her at least: look, you 

have taken from me 
The Present, and I murmur not, 

nor moan ; 
The Future too, with all her 

glorious promise ; 
But do not leave me utterly 

alone. 

Spare me the Past : for, see, she 

cannot harm you, 
She lies so white and cold, 

wrapped in her shroud ; 
All, all my own ! and, trust me, 

I will hide her 
Within my soul, nor speak to 

her aloud. 

I folded her soft hands upon her 

bosom, 
And strewed my fiowers upon 

her, — they still live : 
Sometimes I like to kiss her 

closed white eyelids. 
And think of all the joy she 

used to give. 

Cruel indeed it were to take her 

from me ; 
She sleeps, she will not wake — 

no fear — asrain : 



And so I laid her, such a gentle 

burden. 
Quietly on my heart to still its 

pain. 

I do not think that any smiling 

Present, 
Any vague Future, spite of all 

her charms. 
Could ever rival her. You know 

you laid her. 
Long years ago, then living, in 

my arms. 

Leave her at least : while my 

tears fall upon her, 
I dream she smiles, just as she 

did of yore ; 
As dear as ever to me, — nay, it 

may be. 
Even dearer still, — since I have 

nothing more. 



A DOUBTING HEART. 

Where are the swallows fled ? 

Frozen and dead. 
Perchance upon some bleak and 
stormy shore. 
doubting heart ! 
Far over purple seas. 
They wait, in sunny ease, 
The balmy southern breeze. 
To bring them to their northern 
homes once more. 

Why must the flowers die ? 
Prisoned they lie 



A STUDENT. 



17 



Tn the cold tomb, heedless of 
tears or rain. 
O doubtin/j; heart ! 
They only sleep below 
The soft white ermine snow, 
While winter winds shall 
blow, 
To breathe and smile upon you 
soon again. 

The sun has hid its rays 
These many days ; 
Will dreary hours never leave 
the earth 1 
doubting heart ! 
The stormy clouds on high 
Veil the same sunny sky. 
That soon (for spring is 
nigh) 
Shall wake the summer into 
golden mirth. 

Fair hope is dead, and light 

Is quenched in night. 
What sound can break the si- 
lence of despair ? 
O doubting heart ! 
Thy sky is overcast. 
Yet stars shall rise at last, 
Brighter for darkness past, 
And angels' silver voices stir the 
air. 



A STUDENT. 

Over an ancient scroll I bent, 
Stfccpiug my soul in wise con- 
tent. 



Nor paused a moment, save to 

chide 
A low voice whispering at my 

side. 

I wove beneath the stars' pale 

shine 
A dream, half human, half divine; 
And shook off (not to break the 

charm) 
A little hand laid on my arm. 

I read; until my heart would 

glow 
With the great deeds of long 

ago ; 
Nor heard, while with those 

mighty dead. 
Pass to and fro a faltering tread. 

On the old theme I pondered 

long, — 
The struggle between right and 

wrong ; 
I could not check such visions 

high. 
To soothe a little quivering sigh. 

I tried to solve the problem — 
Life; 

Dreaming of that mysterious 
strife, 

How could I leave such reason- 
ings wise, 

To answer two blue pleading 
eyes'? 

I strove how best to give, ana 
when. 

My blood to save my fellow- 
men, — 



18 



A KNIGET-ERRANT. 



How could I turn aside, to look 
At snowdrops laid upon my 
book? 

Now Time has fled — the world 

is strange, 
Something there is of pain and 

change ; 
My books lie closed upon the 

shelf; 
I miss the old heart in myself. 

I miss the sunbeams in my 

room, — 
It was not always wrapped in 

gloom : 
I miss my dreams, — they fade 

so fast, 
Or flit into some trivial past. 

The great stream of the world 

goes by ; 
None care, or heed, or question, 

why 
I, the lone student, cannot raise 
My voice or hand as in old days. 

No echo seems to wake again 
My heart to anything but pain, 
Save when a dream of twilight 

brings 
The fluttering of an angeFs 

wings \ 



A KNIGHT-ERRANT. 

Though he lived and died among 
us, 
Yet his name may be enrolled 



With the knights whose deeds of 
daring 
Ancient chronicles have told. 

Still a stripling, he encountered 
Poverty, and struggled long, 

Gathering force from every effort, 
Till he knew his arm was 
strong. 

Then his heart and life he of- 
fered 
To his radiant mistress, — 
Truth ; 
Never thought, or dream, or fal- 
tering, 
Marred the promise of his 
youth. 

So he rode forth to defend her, 
And her peerless worth pro- 
claim ; 
Challenging each recreant doubt- 
er 
Who aspersed her spotless 
name. 

First upon his path stood Igno- 
rance, 
Hideous in his brutal might ; 
Hard the blows and long the 
battle 
Ere the monster took to flight. 

Then, with light and fearless 
spirit. 
Prejudice he dared to brave; 
Hunting back the lying craven 
To her black sulphureous 
cave. 



HOMEWARD BOUND, 



19 



Followed by his servile minions, 
Custom, the old Giant, rose ; 

Yet he, too, at last was conquered 
By the good Knight's weighty 
blows. 

Then he turned, and, flushed with 
victory, 
Struck upon the brazen shield 
' Of the world's great king, Opin- 
ion, 
And defied him to the field. 

Once again he rose a conqueror. 
And, though wounded in the 
fight, 
With a dying smile of triumph 
Saw that Truth had gained 
her right. 

On his failing ear re-echoing 
Came the shouting round her 
throne ; 
Little cared he that no future 
With her name would link his 
own. 

Spent with many a hard-fought 
battle, 
Slowly ebbed his life away, 
And the crowd that flocked to 
greet her 
Trampled on him where he 
lay. 

Gathering all his strength, he 
saw her 
Crowned and reigning in her 
pride ; 
Looked his last upon her beauty. 
Raised his eyes to God, and 
died. 



LINGER, GENTLE TIME 

Linger, O gentle Time, 
Linger, O radiant grace of bright 
To-day ! 
Let not the hours* chime 
Call thee away, 
But linger near me still with 
fond delay. 

Linger, for thou art mine ! 
What dearer treasures can the 
future hold ? 
What sweeter flowers than 
thine 
Can she unfold ? 
What secrets tell my heart thou 
hast not told ? 

O, linger in thy flight ! 
For shadows gather round, and 
should we part, 
A dreary, starless night 
May fill my heart, — 
Then pause and linger yet ere 
thou depart. 

Linger, I ask no more, — 
Thou art enough forever — thou 
alone ; 
What future can restore. 
When thou art flown, 
All that I hold from thee and call 
my own ? 



HOMEWARD BOUND. 

I HAVE seen a fiercer tempest. 
Known a louder whirlwind 
blow; 



20 



HOMEWARD BOUND. 



I was wrecked off red Algiers, 

Six-and-thirty years ago. 
Young I was, and yet old sea- 
men 
Were not strong or calm as I ; 
While life held such treasures for 
me, 
I felt sure I could not die. 

Life I struggled for, — and saved 
it; 
Life alone, — aixd nothing 
more; 
Bruised, half dea*^^ alone and 
helpless 
I was cast T^.pon the shore. 
I feared the pitiless rocks of 
Ocean ; 
So the great sea rose, — and 
then 
Cast me from her friendly bosom, 
On the pitiless hearts of men. 

Gaunt and dreary ran the moun- 
tains. 
With black gorges, up the 
land ; 
Up to where the lonely Desert 
Spreads her burning, dreary 
sand : 
In the gorges of the mountains. 

On the plain beside the sea. 
Dwelt my stern and cruel mas- 
ters. 
The black Moors of Barbary. 

Ten long years I toiled among 
them. 
Hopeless — as I used to say ; 



Now I know Hope burnt within 
me 
Fiercer, stronger, day by day : 
Those dim years of toil and sor- 
row 
Like one long, dark dream ap- 
pear; 
One long day of weary wait- 
ing, -— 
Then each day was like a year. 

How I cursed the land, — my pris- 
on ; 
How I cursed the serpent sea. 
And the Demon Fate that show- 
ered 
All her curses upon me; 
I was mad, I think — God pardon 
Words so terrible and wild — 
This voyage would have been my 
last one. 
For I left a wife and child. 

Never did one tender vision 

Fade away before my sight, 
Never once through all my slav- 
ery, 
Burning day or dreary night ; 
In my soul it lived, and kept me, 
Now I feel, from black despair, 
And my heart was not quite 
broken. 
While they lived and blest me 
there. 

When at night my task was over, 
I would hasten to the shore ; 

(All was strange and foreign in- 
land, 
Nothing I had known before ;) 



HOMEWARD BOUND. 



21 



Strange looked the bleak moun- 
tain passes, 
Strange the red glare and black 
shade, 
And the Oleanders, waving 
To the sound the fountains 
made. 

Then I gazed at the great Ocean, 
Till she grew a friend again ; 
And because she knew old Eng- 
land, 
I forgave her all my pain : 
So the blue still sky above me. 
With its white clouds' fleecy 
fold. 
And the glimmering stars (though 

brighter). 
Looked like home and days of 
old. 

And a calm would fall upon me. 
Worn perhaps with work and 
pain, 
The wild, hungry longing left 
me, 
And I was myself again : 
Looking at the silver waters. 
Looking up at the far sky. 
Dreams of home and all I left 
there 
Floated sorrowfully by. 

A fair face, but pale with sor- 
row, 
With blue eyes, brimful of 
tears, 
And the little red mouth, quiver- 
ing 
With a smile, to hide its fears ; 



Holding out her baby towards me. 
From the sky she looked on 
me; 

So it was that last I saw her. 
As the ship put out to sea. 

Sometimes (and a pang would 
seize me 
That the years were floating 
on) 
I would strive to paint her, ah 
tered, 
And the little baby gone : 
She no longer young and girlish. 
The child standing by her 
knee. 
And her face more pale and 
saddened 
With the weariness for me. 

Then I saw, as night grew darker, 

How she taught my child to 
pray. 
Holding its small hands together, 

For its father, far away ; 
And I felt her sorrow, weighing 

Heavier on me than my own. 
Pitying her blighted spring-time. 

And her joy so early flown. 

Till upon my hands (now hard- 
ened 
With the rough, harsh toil of 
years) 
Bitter drops of anguish falling, 
Woke me from my dream, to 
tears ; 
Woke me as a slave, an outcast, 
Leagues from home, across th 
deep; 



22 



HOMEWARD BOUND. 



So — though you may call it 
childish — 
So I sobbed myself to sleep. 

Well, the years sped on, — my 
Sorrow, 
Calmer, and yet stronger 
grown, 
Was my shield against all suffer- 
ing. 
Poorer, meaner than her own. 
Thus my cruel master's harsh- 
ness 
Fell upon me all in vain, 
Yet the tale of what we suffered 
Echoed back from main to 
main. 

You have heard in a far country 

Of a self-devoted band, 
Vowed to rescue Christian cap- 
tives 
Pining in a foreign land. 
And these gentle-hearted stran- 
gers 
Year by year go forth from 
Rome, 
In their hands the hard-earned 
ransom. 
To restore some exiles home. 

I was freed : they broke the 
tidings 
Gently to me : but indeed 
Hour by hour sped on, I knew 
not 
What the words meant — I 
was freed ! 
Better so, perhaps ; while sorrow 
(More akin to earthly things) 



Only strains the sad heart's 
fibres, 
Joy, bright stranger, breaks 
the strings. 

Yet at last it rushed upon me, 
And my heart beat full and 
fast; 
What were now my years of 
waiting, 
What was all the dreary past '? 
Nothing — to the impatient 
throbbing 
I must bear across the sea : 
Nothing — to the eternal hours 
Still between my home and 



How the voyage passed, I know 
not; 
Strange it was once more to 
stand 
With my countrymen around me, 
And to clasp an English hand. 
But, through all, my heart was 
dreamipg 
Of the first words I should 
hear. 
In the gentle voice that echoed. 
Fresh as ever, on my ear. 

Should I see her start of wonder. 

And the sudden truth arise. 
Flushing all her face and light- 
ening 
The dimmed splendor of her 
eyes ? 
Oh ! to watch the fear and 
doubting 
Stir the silent depths of pain^ 



£OMEWARD BOUND. 



23 



And the rush of joy — then 
melting 
Into perfect peace again. 

And the child ! — but why re- 
member 
Foolish fancies that I thought ? 
Every tree and every hedge-row 
From the well-known past I 
brought ; 
I would picture my dear cottage, 
See the crackling wood-fire 
burn, 
And the two beside it seated, 
Watching, waiting, my return. 

So, at last we reached the harbor. 

I remember nothing more 
Till I stood, my'sick heart throb- 
bing. 

With my hand upon the door. 
There I paused — I heard her 



Low, soft, murmuring words 

she said ; 
Then I first knew the dumb 

terror 
I had had lest she were dead. 

It was evening in late autumn, 

And the gusty wind blew chill ; 
Autumn leaves were falling round 
me, 
And the red sun lit the hill. 
Six-and-twenty years are van- 
ished 
Since then, — I am old and 
gray, — 
But I never told to mortal 
What I saw, until this day. 



She was seated by the fire. 

In her arms she held a child, 
Whispering baby-words caress- 
ing, 
And then, looking up, she 
smiled ; 
Smiled on him who stood beside 
her — 
Oh ! the bitter truth was told. 
In her look of trusting fondness — 
I had seen the look of old ! 

But she rose and turned towards 
me 
(Cold and dumb I waited 
there) 
With a shriek of fear and terror, 

And a white face of despair. 
He had been an ancient com- 
rade, — 
Not a single word we said. 
While we gazed upon each other, 
He the living : I the dead ! 

I drew nearer, nearer to her, 

And I took her trembling hand, 
Looking on her white face, look- 
ing 
That her heart might under- 
stand 
All the love and all the pity 

That my lips refused to say, — 
I thank God no thought save 
sorrow 
Rose in our crushed hearts 
that day. 

Bitter tears that desolate mo- 
ment. 
Bitter, bitter tears we wept. 



24 



LIFE AND DEATH. 



We three broken hearts together, 
While the baby smiled and 
slept. 
Tears alone — no words were 
spoken, 
Till he — till her husband said 
That my boy, (I had forgotten 
The poor child,) that he was 
dead. 

Then at last I rose, and, turning. 
Wrung his hand, but made no 
sign; 
And I stooped and kissed her 
forehead 
Once more, as if she were mine. 
Nothing of farewell I uttered. 

Save in broken words to pray 
That God would ever guard and 
bless her, — 
Then in silence passed away. 

Over the great restless ocean 

Six-and- twenty years 1 roam ; 
All my comrades, old and weary. 

Have gone back to die at home. 
Home ! yes, I shall reach a 
haven, 

I, too, shall reach home and 
rest ; 
I shall find her waiting for me 

With our baby on her breast. 



LIFE AND DEATH. 

" What is Life, father ? '' 

" A Battle, my child. 
Where the strongest lance may 
fail. 



Where the wariest eyes may be 
beguiled. 
And the stoutest heart may 
quail. 
Where the foes are gathered on 
every hand, 
And rest not day or night, 
And the feeble little ones must 
stand 
In the thickest of the fight." 

'^What is Death, father V' 

" The rest, my child. 
When the strife and the toil are 
o'er; 
The angel of God, who, calm 
and mild, 
Says we need fight no more ; 
Who, driving away the demon 
band, 
Bids the din of the battl 
cease ; 
Takes banner and spear from 
our failing hand. 
And proclaims an eternal 
peace." 

" Let me die, father ! I tremble, 
and fear 
To yield in that terrible 
strife ! " 

" The crown must be won fof 
Heaven, dear, 
In the battle-field of life : 
My child, though thy foes are 
strong and tried, 
He loveth the weak and small ; 
The angels of heaven are on thy 
side. 
And God is over all ! " 



CLEANSING FIRES. 



25 



NOW. 

RiSB ! for the day is passing, 
And you lie dreaming on ; 
The others have buckled their 
armor, 
And forth to the fight are 
gone : 
A place in the ranks awaits 
you. 
Each man has some part to 
play; 
The Past and the Future are 
nothing. 
In the face of the stern To- 
day. 

Rise from your dreams of the 
Future, — 
Of gaining some hard-fought 
field ; 
Of storming some airy fortress, 
Or bidding some giant yield ; 
Your Future has deeds of glory, 
Of honor (God grant it may !) 
But your arm will never be 
stronger. 
Or the need so great as To-day. 

Rise ! if the Past detains you, 
Her sunshine and storms 
forget ; 
No chains so unworthy to hold 
you 
As those of a vain regret : 
Sad or bright, she is lifeless ever ; 
Cast her phantom arms away. 
Nor look back, save to learn the 
lesson 
Of a nobler strife To-day. 



Rise ! for the day is passing ; 
The sound that you scarcely 
hear 
Is the enemy marching to bat- 
tle : — 
Arise ! for the foe is here ! 
Stay not to sharpen your weap- 
ons. 
Or the hour will strike at last. 
When, from dreams of a coming 
battle, 
You may wake to find it past i 



CLEANSING FIRES. 

Let thy gold be cast in the fur- 
nace, 
Thy red gold, precious and 

bright ; 
Do not fear the hungry fire. 
With its caverns of burning 
light ; 
And thy o()l(l shall return more 
precious, 
Free from every spot and 
stain ; 
For gold must be tried by fire. 
As a heart must be tried by 
pain^ 

In the cruel fire of Sorrow 

Cast thy heart, do not faint or 
wail ; 

Let thy hand be firm and steady, 
Do not let thyspii-it quail : 

But wait till the t.riai is over, 
And take thy heart agiia; 



26 



THE VOICE OF THE WIND. 



For as gold is tried by fire, 
So a heart must be tried by 
pain! 

I shall know by the gleam and 
glitter 
Of the golden chain you wear, 
By your heart's calm strength 
in loving. 
Of the fire they have had to 
bear. 
Beat on, true heart, forever ; 
Shine bright, strong golden 
chain ; 
And bless the cleansing fire. 
And the furnace of living pain ! 



THE VOICE OF THE 
WIND. 

Let us throw more logs on the 
fire! 
We have need of a cheerful 
light. 
And close round the hearth to 
gather. 
For the wind has risen to-night. 
With the mournful sound of its 
wailing 
It has checked the children's 
glee, 
And it calls with a louder clamor 
Than the clamor of the sea. 

Hark to the voice of 
the wind ! 

Let us listen to what it is saying. 
Let us hearken to where it has 
been ; 



For it tells, in its terrible crying, 

The fearful sights it has seen. 

It clatters loud at the casements, 

Round the house it hurries on. 

And shrieks with redoubled fury 

When we say, " The blast is 

gone ! " 

Hark to the voice of 
the wind ! 

It has been on the field of battle. 
Where the dying and wounded 
lie; 
And it brings the last groan they 
uttered. 
And the ravenous vulture's 
cry. 
It has been where the icebergs 
were meeting, 
And closed with a fearful 
crash : 
On shores where no foot has 
wandered 
It has heard the waters dash. 
Hark to the voice of 
the wind ! 

It has been on the desolate ocean 
When the lightning struck the 
mast; 
It has heard the cry of the 
drowning. 
Who sank as it hurried past ; 
The words of despair and an- 
guish. 
That were heard by no living 
ear, 
The gun that no signal answered, 
It brings them all to us here. 
Hark to the voicti of 
the wind ! 



TREASURES. 



27 



It has been on the lonely moor- 
land, 
Where the treacherous snow- 
drift lies, 
Where the traveller, spent and 
weary. 
Gasped fainter and fainter 
cries ; 
It has heard the bay of the blood- 
hounds 
On the track of the hunted 
slave, 
The lash and the curse of the 
master, 
And the groan that the cap- 
tive gave. 

Hark to the voice of 
the wind ! 

It has swept through the gloomy 
forest, 
Where the sledge was urged 
to its speed. 
Where the howling wolves were 
rushing 
On the track of the panting 
steed. 
Where the pool was black and 
lonely. 
It caught up a splash and a 
cry, — 
Only the bleak sky heard it, 
And the wind as it hurried by. 
Hark to the voice of 
the wind ! 

Then throw more logs on the 
fire. 
Since the air is bleak and 
cold, 



And the children are drawing 
nigher. 
For the tales that the wind 
has told. 
So closer and closer gather 
Round the red and crackling 
light; 
And rejoice (while the wind ia 
blowing) 
We are safe and warm to- 
night. 

Hark to the voice of 
the wind ! 



TREASURES. 

Let me count my treasures, 
All my soul holds dear, 

Given me by dark spirits 
Whom I used to fear. 

Through long days of anguish, 
And sad nights, did Pain 

Forge my shield, Endurance, 
Bright and free from stain ! 

Doubt, in misty caverns, 
'Mid dark horrors sought, 

Till my peerless jewel. 
Faith, to me she brought. 

Sorrow, that I wearied 
Should remain so long, 

Wreathed my starry glory. 
The bright Crown of Song. 

Strife, that racked my spirit 
Without hope or rest. 



28 



WAITING. 



Left the blooming flower, 
Patience, on my breast. 

Suffering, that I dreaded. 
Ignorant of her charms, 

Laid the fair child. Pity, 
Smiling, in my arms. 

So I count my treasures, 
Stored in days long past, - 

And I thank the givers, 
Whom I know at last ! 



SHINING STARS. 

Shine, ye stars of heaven, 

On a world of pain ! 
See old Time destroying 

All our hoarded gain ; 
AH our sweetest flowers. 

Every stately shrine. 
All our hard-earned glory, 

Every dream divine ! 

Shine, ye stars of heaven. 

On the rolling years ! 
See how Time, consoling, 

Dries the saddest tears, 
Bids the darkest storm-clouds 

Pass in gentle rain, 
While upspring in glory 

Flowers and dreams again 1 

Shine, ye stars of heaven. 

On a world of fear ! 
See how Time, avenging, 

Bringeth judgment here : 
Weaving ill-won honors 

To a fiery crown ; 



Bidding hard hearts perish; 
Casting proud hearts down. 

Shine, ye stars of heaven. 

On the hours' slow flight ! 
See how Time, rewarding. 

Gilds good deeds with light ; 
Pays with kingly measure ; 

Brings earth's dearest prize ; 
Or, crowned with rays diviner, 

Bids the end arise ! 



WAITING. 

** Wherefore dwell so sad and 
lonely 

By the desolate sea-shore, 
With the melancholy surges 

Beating at your cottage door ? 

" You shall dwell beside the 
castle 
Shadowed by our ancient 
trees ; 
And your life shall pass on 
gently. 
Cared for, and in rest and 
ease/* 

" Lady, one who loved me dearly 
Sailed for distant lands away ; 

And I wait here his returning 
Hopefully from day to day. 

" To my door I bring my spin- 
ning. 

Watching every ship I see ; 
Waiting, hoping, till the sunset 

Fades into the western sea. 



THE CRADLE-SONG OF THE POOR. 



'29 



'* After sunset, at my casement, 

Still I place a signal light ; 
He will see its well-known shin- 
ing 
Should his ship return at 
night. 

" Lady, see your infant smiling, 
With its flaxen curling hair, — 

I remember when your mother 
Was a baby just as fair. 

" I was watching then, and hop- 
ing: 
Years have brought great 
change to all ; 
To my neighbors in their cot- 
tage. 
To you nobles at the hall. 

" Not to me, — for I am waiting. 
And the years have fled so 
fast, 

I must look at you to tell me 
That a weary time has past ! 

" When I hear a footstep coming 
On the shingle — years have 
fled — 
Yet amid a thousand others, 
I shall know his quick, light 
tread. 

« When I hear (to-night it may 
be) 
Some one pausing at my door, 
3 shall know the gay, soft ac- 
cents. 
Heard and welcomed oft be- 
fore ! 



" So each day I am more hopeful. 
He may come before the night ; 

Every sunset I feel surer 

He must come ere morning 
light. 

" Then I thank you, noble lady, 

But I cannot do your will : 
Where he left me he must find 
me. 
Waiting, watching, hoping, 
still!" 



THE CRADLE-SONG OF 
THE POOR. 

Hush ! I cannot bear to see thee 
Stretch thy tiny hands in vain ; 
Dear, I have no bread to give 
thee. 
Nothing, child, to ease thy 
pain ! 
When God sent thee first to bless 
me, 
Proud, and thankful too, was 

I; 

Now, my darling, I, thy mother, 
Almost long to see thee die. 
Sleep, my darling, thou 

art weary ; 
God is good, but life is 
dreary. 

I have watched thy beauty fading,^ 
And thy strength sink day by/ 
day. 
Soon, I know, will Want and 
Fever 
Take thy little life away. 



30 



BE STRONG. 



Famine makes thy father reckless, 
Hope has left both him and 
me; 
We could suffer all, my baby. 
Had we but a crust for thee. 
Sleep, my darling, thou 

art weary ; 
God is good, but life is 
dreary. 

Better thou shouldst perish early. 
Starve so soon, my darling 
one, 
Than in helpless sin and sorrow 

Vainly live, as I have done. 
Better that thy angel spirit 
With my joy, my peace, were 
flown. 
Than thy heart grew cold and 
careless. 
Reckless, hopeless, like my 
own. 

Sleep, my darling, thou 

art weary ; 
God is good, but life is 
dreary. 

I am wasted, dear, with hunger, 

And my brain is all opprest, 
I have scarcely strength to press 
thee. 
Wan and feeble, to my breast. 
Patience, baby, God will help us. 
Death will come to thee and 
me. 
He will take us to his heaven, 
Where no want or pain can be. 
Sleep, my darling, thou 

art weary ; 
God is good, but life is 
dreary. 



Such the plaint that, late and 
early. 
Did we listen, we might hear 
Close beside us, — but the thun- 
der 
Of a city dulls our ear. 
Every heart, as God's bright 
Angel, 
Can bid one such sorrow cease ; 
God has glory when his children 
Bring his poor ones joy and 
peace ! 

Listen, nearer while she 

sings 
Sounds the fluttering of 
wings ! 



BE STRONG. 

Be strong to hope, O Heart ! 

Though day is bright, 
The stars can only shine 

In the dark night. 
Be strong, O Heart of mine, 

Look towards the light ! 

Be strong to hear, Heart ! 

Nothing is vain : 
Strive not, for life is care, 

And God sends pain ; 
Heaven is above, and there 

Rest will remain ! 

Be strong to love, O Heart ! 

Love knows not wrong ; 
Didst thou love — creatures 
even. 

Life were not long ; 
Didst thou love God in heaven, 

Thou wouldst be strong ! 



GOD'S GIFTS. 



31 



GOD'S GIFTS. 

God gave a gift to Earth : a child, 
Weak, innocent, and undefiled, 
Opened its ignorant eyes and 
smiled. 

It lay so helpless, so forlorn, 
Earth took it coldly and in scorn, 
Cursing the day when it was 
born. 

Slie gave it first a tarnished 

name, 
For heritage, a tainted fame. 
Then cradled it in want and 

shame. 

All influence of Good or Right, 
All ray of God's most holy light, 
She curtained closely from its 
sight. 

Then turned her heart, her eyes 

away. 
Ready to look again, the day 
Its little feet began to stray. 

In dens of guilt the baby played, 
Where sin, and sin alone, was 

made 
The law that all around obeyed. 

With ready and obedient care. 
He learnt the tasks they taught 

him there; 
Black sin for lesson, — oaths for 

prayer. 

Then Earth arose, and, in her 
might, 



To vindicate her injured right. 
Thrust him in deeper depths of 
night ; 

Branding him with a deeper 

brand 
Of shame, he could not under. 

stand, 
The felon outcast of the land. 



God gave a gift to Earth : a child, 
Weak, innocent, and undefiled, 
Opened its ignorant eyes and 
smiled. 

And Earth received the gift, and 

cried 
Her joy and triumph far and 

wide, 
Till echo answered to her pride. 

She blessed the hour when first 

he came 
To take the crown of pride and 

fame. 
Wreathed through long ages for 

his name. 

Then bent her utmost art and 

skill 
To train the supple mind and 

will. 
And guard it from a breath of ill. 

She strewed his morning path 

with flowers. 
And Love, in tender dropping 

showers. 
Nourished the blue and dawning 

hours. 



32 



A TOMB IN GHENT. 



She shed, in rainbow hues of 

light, 
A halo round the Good and 

Right, 
To tempt and charm the baby's 

sight. 

And every step, of work or play, 
Was lit by some such dazzling ray, 
Till morning brightened into 
day. 

And then the World arose, and 

said, 
Let added honors now be shed 
On such a noble heart and head ! 

O World, both gifts were pure 

and bright, 
Holy and sacred in God's sight : — 
God will judge them and thee 

aright ! 



A TOMB IN GHENT. 

A SMILING look she had, a figure 

slight, 
With cheerful air, and step both 

quick and light ; 
A strange and foreign look the 

maiden bore, 
That suited the quaint Belgian 

dress she wore ; 
Yet the blue, fearless eyes in her 

fair face. 
And her soft voice, told her of 

English race; 
And ever, as she flitted to and 

fro, 



She sang, (or murmured, rather,) 

soft and low. 
Snatches of song, as if she did 

not know 
That she was singing, but the 

happy load 
Of dream and thought thus from 

her heart o'erflowed : 
And while on household cares 

she passed along, 
The air would bear me fragments 

of her song ; 
Not such as village maidens sing,. 

and few 
The framers of her changing' 

music knew ; 
Chants such as heaven and earth 

first heard of when 
The master Palestrina held thi? 

pen. 
But I with awe had often turne(i 

the page, 
Yellow with time, and half dtv 

faced by age. 
And listened, with an ear not 

quite unskilled. 
While heart and soul to the 

grand echo thrilled ; 
And much I marvelled, as her 

cadence fell 
From the Laudate, that I knew 

so well. 
Into Scarlatti's minor fugue, 

how she 
Had learned such deep and sol- 
emn harmony. 
But what she told I set in rhyme, 

as meet 
To chronicle the influence, dim 

and sweet, 



A TOMB IN GHENT. 



33 



'Neath which her young and in- 
nocent life had grown : 

Would that my words were sim- 
ple as her own. 



Many years since, an English 

workman went 
Over the seas, to seek a home in 

Ghent, 
Where English skill was prized ; 

nor toiled in vain ; 
Small, yet enough, his hard- 
earned daily gain. 
He dwelt alone, — in sorrow, or 

in pride. 
He mixed not with the workers 

by his side ; 
He seemed to care but for one 

present joy, — 
-To tend, to watch, to teach his 

sickly boy. 
Severe to all beside, yet for the 

child 
He softened his rough speech to 

soothings mild; 
For him he smiled, with him each 

day he walked 
Through the dark, gloomy 

streets ; to him he talked 
Of home, of England, and 

strange stories told 
Of English heroes in the days of 

old; 
And (when the sunset gilded 

roof and spire) 
The marvellous tale which never 

seemed to tire : 
How the gilt dragon, glaring 

fiercely down 



From the great belfry, watching 

all the town. 
Was brought, a trophy of the 

wars divine, 
By a Crusader from far Palestine, 
And given to Bruges ; and how 

Ghent arose. 
And how they struggled long as 

deadly foes, 
Till Ghent, one night, by a brave 

soldier's skill, 
Stole the great dragon ; and she 

keeps it still. 
One day the dragon — so 't is 

said — will rise, 
Spread his bright wings, and 

glitter in the skies. 
And over desert lands and azure 

seas 
Will seek his home 'mid palm 

and cedar trees. 
So, as he passed the belfry every 

day. 
The boy would look if it were 

flown away; 
Each day surprised to find it 

watching there. 
Above him, as he crossed the 

ancient square. 
To seek the great cathedral, that 

had grown 
A home for him — mysterious 

and his own. 

Dim with dark shadows of 

the ages past, 
St. Bavon stands, solemn and 

rich and vast; 
The slender pillars, in long 

vistas spread. 



34 



A TOMB IN GHENT. 



Like forest arches meet and close 

overhead ; 
So high that, like a weak and 

doubting prayer, 
Ere it can float to the carved 

angels there, 
The silver clouded incense faints 

in air : 
Only the organ's voice, with peal 

on peal, 
Can mount to where those far-off 

angels kneel. 
Here the pale boy, beneath a low 

side-arch, 
Would listen to its solemn chant 

or march ; 
Folding his little hands, his sim- 
ple prayer 
Melted in childish dreams, and 

both in air : 
While the great organ over all 

would roll, 
Speaking strange secrets to his 

innocent soul, 
Bearing on eagle-wings the great 

desire 
Of all the kneeling throng, and 

piercing higher 
Than aught but love and prayer 

can reach, until 
Only the silence seemed to listen 

still ; 
Or gathering like a sea still more 

and more, 
Break in melodious waves at 

heaven's door, 
And then fall, slow and soft, in 

tender rain, 
Upon the pleading, longing 

hearts again. 



Then he would watch the rosy 

sunlight glow, 

That crept along the marble floor 
below. 

Passing, as life does, with the A 
passing hours, / 

Now by a shrine all rich with 
gems and flowers. 

Now on the brazen letters of a 
tomb, 

Then, leaving it again to shade 
and gloom, 

And creeping on, to show, dis- 
tinct and quaint. 

The kneeling figure of some 
marble saint : 

Or lighting up the carvings 
strange and rare, 

That told of patient toil, and 
reverent care; 

Ivy that trembled on the spray, 
and ears 

Of heavy corn, and slender bul- 
rush spears. 

And all the thousand tangled 
weeds that grow 

In summer, where the silver riv- 
ers flow; 

And demon - heads grotesque, 
that seemed to glare 

In impotent wrath on all the 
beauty there ; 

Then the gold rays up pillared 
shaft would climb. 

And so be drawn to heaven, at 
evening time. 

And deeper ixKence; darker shad- 
ows flcM^d 

On all arouwd; onJj ti»e M^j^pdows 
glowed 



A TOMB IN GHENT. 



35 



With blazoned glory, like the 
shields of light 

Archangels bear, who, armed 
with love and might. 

Watch upon heaven's battle- 
ments at night. 

Then all was shade ; the silver 
lamps that gleamed. 

Lost in the daylight, in the dark- 
ness seemed 

Like sparks of fire in the dim 
aisles to shine. 

Or trembling stars before each 
separate shrine. 

Grown half afraid, the child 
would leave them there. 

And come out, blinded by the 
noisy glare 

That burst upon him from the 
busy square. 

The church was thus his home 

for rest or play ; 
And as he came and went again 

each day. 
The pictured faces that he knew 

so well 
Seemed to smile on him welcome 

and farewell. 
But holier, and dearer far than all. 
One sacred spot his own he loved 

to call ; 
Save at mid-day, half hidden by 

the gloom ; 
The people call it The White 

Maiden's Tomb : 
For there she stands ; her folded 

hands are pressed 
Together, and laid softly on her 

breast, 



As if she waited but a word to 

rise 
From the dull earth, and pass to 

the blue skies ; 
Her lips expectant part, she holds 

her breath. 
As listening for the angel voice 

of death. 
None know how many years have 

seen her so. 
Or what the name of her who 

sleeps below. 
And here the child would come, 

and strive to trace, 
Through the dim twilight, the 

pure, gentle face 
He loved so well, and here he oft 

would bring 
Some violet-blossom of the early 

spring. 
And, climbing softly by the fret- 
ted stand, 
Not to disturb her, lay it in her 

hand ; 
Or, whispering a soft, loving 

message sweet, 
Would stoop and kiss the little 

marble feet. 
So, when the organ's pealing 

music rang, 
He thought amid the gloom the 

Maiden sang ; 
With reverent, simple faith by 

her he knelt, 
And fancied what she thought. 

and what she felt ; 
" Glory to God," re-echoed from 

her voice, 
And then his little spirit would 

rejoice ; 



36 



A TOMB IN GHENT. 



Or when the Requiem sobbed 

upon the air, 
His baby tears dropped with her 

mournful prayer. 



So years fled on, while childish 

fancies past, 
The childish love and simple faith 

could last. 
The artist-soul awoke in him, the 

flame 
Of genius, like the light of Heaven, 
I came 

I Upon his brain, and (as it will, 

if true) 
It touched his heart and lit his 

spirit, too. 
His father saw, and with a proud 

content 
Let him forsake the toil where 

he had spent 
His youth's first years, and on 

one happy day 
Of pride, before the old man 

passed away, 
He stood with quivering lips, and 

the big tears 
Upon his cheek, and heard the 

dream of years 
Living and speaking to his very 

heart, — 
The low, hushed murmur at the 

wondrous art 
Of him who with young, trem- 
bling fingers made 
The great church -organ answer 

as he played ; 
And, as the uncertain sound grew 

full and strong, 



Rush with harmonious spirit- 
wings along. 

And thrill with master-power 
the breathless throng. 



The old man died, and years 

passed on, and still 
The young musician bent his 

heart and will 
To his dear toil. St. Bavon now 

had grown 
More dear to him, and even more 

his own ; 
And as he left it every night he 

prayed 
A moment by the archway in tlie 

shade. 
Kneeling once more within the 

sacred gloom 
Where the White Maiden 

watched upon her tomb. 
His hopes of travel and a world- 
wide fame, 
Cold Time had sobered, and his 

fragile frame ; 
Content at last only in dreams 

to roam, 
Away from the tranquillity of 

home; 
Content that the poor dwellers 

by his side 
Saw in him but the gentle friend 

and guide. 
The patient counsellor in the 

poor strife 
And petty details of their com- 
mon life, 
Who comforted where woe and 

grief might fall, 



A TOMB IN GHENT. 



?;7 



I^or slighted any pain or want as 

small, 
But whose great heart took in 

and felt for all. 

Still he grew famous ; — many 

came to be 
His pupils in the art of harmony. 
One day a voice floated so pure 

and free 
Above his music, that he turned 

to see 
What angel sang, and saw before 

his eyes, 
What made his heart leap with 

a strange surprise, 
His own White Maiden, calm, 

and pure, and mild, 
As in his childish dreams she 

sang and smiled ; 
Her eyes raised up to Heaven, 

her lips apart, 
And music overflowing from her 

heart. 
But the faint blush that tinged 

her cheek betrayed 
No marble statue, but a living 

maid ; 
Perplexed and startled at his 

wondering look, 
Her rustling score of Mozart's 

Sanctus shook ; 
The uncertain notes, like birds 

within a snare, 
Fluttered and died upon the 

trembling air. 

Days passed ; each, morning 
saw the maiden stand, 
Her eyes cast down, her lesson in 
her hand, 



Eager to study, never weary, 

while 
Repaid by the approving word 

or smile 
Of her kind master; days and 

months fled on ; 
One day the pupil from the choir 

was gone ; 
Gone to take light, and joy, and 

youth once more 
Within the poor musician's hum- 
ble door ; 
And to repay, with gentle, hap- 
py art, 
The debt so many owed his gen- 
erous heart. 
And now, indeed, was one who 

knew and felt 
That a great gift of God within 

him dwelt ; 
One who could listen, who could 

understand, 
Whose idle work dropped from 

her slackened hand. 
While with wet eyes entranced 

she stood, nor knew 
How the melodious winged hours 

flew; 
Who loved his art as none had 

loved before. 
Yet prized the noble, tender spirit 

more. 
While the great organ brought 

from far and near 
Lovers of harmony to praise and 

hear, 
Unmarked by aught save what 

filled every day, 
Duty, and toil, and rest, years 

passed away : 



38 



A TOMB IN GHENT. 



And now by the low arfchway in 

the shade 
Beside her mother knelt a little 

maid, 
Who through the great cathedral 

learned to roam, 
Climb to the choir, and bring her 

father home ; 
And stand, demure and solemn 

by his side, 
Patient till the last echo softly 

died; 
Then place her little Uand in his, 

and go 
Down the dark winding stair to 

where below 
The mother knelt, within the 

gathering gloom 
Waiting and praying by the 

Maiden's Tomb. 



So their life went, until, one 

winter's day, 
Father and child came there 

alone to pra}^, — 
The mother, gentle soul, had fled 



away 



Their life was altered now, and 

yet the child 
Forgot her passionate grief in 

time, and smiled, 
Half wondering why, when 

spring's fresh breezes came, 
To see her father was no more 

the same. 
Half guessing at the shadow of 

his pain. 
And then contented if he smiled 

again, 



A sad, cold smile, that passed in 

tears away. 
As reassured she ran once more 

to play. 
And now each year that added 

grace to grace. 
Fresh bloom and sunshine to the 

young girl's face. 
Brought a strange light in the 

musician's eyes. 
As if he saw some starry hope 

arise, 
Breaking upon the midnight of 

sad skies. 
It might be so : more feeble 

year by year, 
The wanderer to his resting-place 

drew near. 
One day the Gloria he could 

play no more. 
Echoed its grand rejoicing as of 

yore; 
His hands were clasped, his weary 

head was laid, 
Upon the lomb where the White 

Maiden prayed ; 
Where the child's love first 

dawned, his soul first spoke, 
The old man's heart there 

throbbed its last and broke. 
The grave cathedral that had 

nursed his youth, 
Had helped his dreaming, and 

had taught him truth, 
Had seen his boyish grief and 

baby tears. 
And watched the sorrows and 

the joys of years. 
Had lit his fame and hope with 

sacred rays, 



THE ANGEL OF DEATH. 



39 



And consecrated sad and happy 

days, 
Had blessed his happiness, and 

soothed his pain, 
Now took her faithful servant 

^Jiome again. 

He rests in peace : some trav- 
ellers mention yet 

An organist whose name they 
all forget. 

He has a holier and a nobler fame 

By poor men's hearths, who love 
and bless the name 

Of a kind friend ; and in low 
tones to-day 

Speak tenderly of him who 
passed away. 

Too poor to help the daughter 
of their friend, 

They grieved to see the little pit- 
tance end ; 

To see her toil and strive with 
cheerful heart, 

To bear the lonely orphan's 
struggling part; 

They grieved to see her go at 
last alone 

To English kinsmen she had 
never known : 

And here she came ; the foreign 
girl soon found 

Welcome, and love, and plenty 
all around. 

And here she pays it back with 
earnest will, 

^y well-taught housewife watch- 
fulness and skill ; 

Deep in her heart she holds her 
father's name, 



And tenderly and proudly keeps 

his fame ; 
And while she works with thrifty 

Belgian care. 
Past dreams of childhood float 

upon the air ; 
Some strange old chant, or sol- 
emn Latin hymn, 
That echoed through the old 

cathedral dim. 
When as a little child each day 

she went 
To kneel and pray by an old 

tomb in Ghent. 



THE ANGEL OF DEATH. 

Why shouldst thou fear the 
beautiful angel. Death, 
Who waits thee at the portals 
of the skies. 
Ready to kiss away thy strug- 
gling breath. 
Ready with gentle hand to 
close thine eyes ? 

How many a tranquil soul has 
passed away. 
Fled gladly from fierce pain 
and pleasures dim, 
To the eternal splendor of the 
day; 
And many a troubled heart 
still calls for him. 

Spirits too tender for the battle 
here 
Have turned from life, its 
hopes, its fears, its charms ; 



40 



A DRKAM 



And children, shuddering at a 
world so drear, 
Have smiling passed away 
into his arms. 

He whom thou fearest will, to 
ease its pain, 
Lay his cold hand upon thy 
aching heart : 
Will soothe the terrors of thy 
troubled brain, 
And bid the shadow of earth's 
grief depart. 

He will give back what neither 
time, nor might, 
Nor passionate prayer, nor 
longing hope restore, 
(Dear as to long-blind eyes re- 
covered sight,) 
He will give back those who 
are gone before. 

0, what were life, if life were 
all ? Thine eyes 
Are blinded by their tears, or 
thou wouldst see 
Thy treasures wait thee in the 
far-off skies, 
And Death, thy friend, will 
give them all to thee. 



A DREAM. 

All yesterday I was spinning. 
Sitting alone in the sun ; 

And the dream that I spun was 
so lengthy, 
It lasted till day was done. 



I heeded not cloud or shadow 
That flitted over the hill. 

Or the humming-bees, or the 
swallows. 
Or the trickling of the rill. 

I took the threads for my spin- 
ning, 

All of blue summer air. 
And a flickering ray of sunlight 

Was woven in here and there. 

The shadows grew longer and 
longer, 
The evening wind passed by, 
And the purple splendor of 
sunset 
Was flooding the western sky. 

But I could not leave my spin- 
ning, 
For so fair my dream had 
grown, 
I heeded not, hour by hour. 
How the silent day had flown. 

At last the gray shadows fell 
round me. 
And the night came dark and 
chill, 
And I rose and ran down tho 
valley, 
And left it all on the hill. 

I went up the hill this morning 
To the place where my spin, 
ning lay,— 
There was nothing but glistening 
dew-drops 
Remained of my dream to-day. 



STRIVE, WAIT, AND PRAY. 



41 



THE PRESENT. 

Do not crouch to-day, and wor- 
ship 
^ — The^^ld Past, whose life is 

fled; 
Hush your voice to tender rever- 
ence ; 
Crowned he lies, but cold and 
dead : 
For the Present reigns our mon- 
arch, 
With an added weight of 
hours ; 
Honor her, for she is mighty ! 
Honor her, for she is ours ! 

See the shadows of his heroes 
Girt around her cloudy 
throne ; 
Every day the ranks are strength- 
ened 
By great hearts to him un- 
known ; 
Noble things the great Past 
promised, 
Holy dreams, both strange and 
new; 
But the Present shall fulfil them. 
What he promised she shall do. 

She inherits all his treasures. 

She is heir to all his fame. 
And the light that lightens round 
her 

Is the lustre of his name ; 
She is wise with all his wisdom. 

Living on his grave she stands. 
On her brow she bears his laurels, 

And his harvest in her hands. 



Coward, can she reign and con- 
quer 

If we thus her glory dim ? 
Let us fight for her as nobly 

As our fathers fought for him. 
God, who crowns the dying ages, 

Bids her rule, and us obey, -^~ 
Bids us cast our lives before her, 

Bids us serve the great To-day. 



CHANGES. 

ID 

Mourn, O rejoicing heart ! 

The hours are flying ; 
Each one some treasure takes, 
Each one some blossom breaks, 

And leaves it dying ; 
The chill dark night draws near. 

Thy sun will soon depart. 

And leave thee sighing ; 
Then mourn, rejoicing heart, 

The hours are flying ! 

Bejoice, O grieving heart ! 

The hours fly fast ; 
With each some sorrow dies, 
With each some shadow flies, 

Until at last 
The red dawn in the east 

Bids weary night depart, 

And pain is past. 
Rejoice then, grieving heart. 

The hours fly fast ! 



STRIVE, WAIT, AND 
PRAY. 

Strive ; yet I do not promise 
The prize you dream of to-day 



42 



THE UNKNOWN GRAVE. 



Will not facie when you think 
to grasp it, 
And melt in your hand away ; 
But another and holier treasure, 
You would now perchance dis- 
dain, 
Will come when your toil is over, 
And pay you for all your pain. 

Wait ; yet I do not tell you 

The hour you long for now 
Will not come with its radiance 
vanished, 

And a shadow upon its brow ; 
Yet far through the misty future, 

With a crown of starry light. 
An hour of joy you know not 

Is winging her silent flight. 

Pray ; though the gift you ask for 

May never comfort your fears. 
May never repay your pleading, 

Yet pray, and with hopeful 
tears ; 
An answer, not that you long for. 

But diviner, will come one 
day; 
Your eyes are too dim to see it. 

Yet strive, and wait, and pray. 



A LAMENT FOR THE 
SUMMER. 

Moan, O ye Autumn Winds ! 
Summer has fled, 
The flowers have closed their 
tender leaves and di« ; 



The lily's gracious head 
All low must lie. 

Because the gentle Summer 
now is dead. 

Grieve, O ye Autumn Winds ! 
Summer lies low ; 
The rose's trembling leaves will 
soon be shed. 
For she that loved her so, 
Alas ! is dead. 

And one by one her loving 
children go. 

Wail, ye Autumn Winds ! 
She lives no more. 
The gentle Summer, with her 
balmy breath. 
Still sweeter than before 
When nearer death. 

And brighter every day the 
smile she wore ! 

Mourn, mourn, Autumn 
Winds, 
Lament and mourn ; 
How many half-blown buds must 
close and die ; 
Hopes with the Summer born 
All faded lie, 

And leave us desolate and 
Earth forlorn ! 



THE UNKNOWN GRAVE. 

No name to bid us know 

Who rests below. 
No word of death or birth. 



GIVE ME THY HEART. 



43 



Only the grass's wave, 
Over a mound of earth, 
Over a nameless grave. 

Did this poor wandering heart 

In pain depart ? 
Longing, but all too late, 

For the calm home again. 
Where patient watchers wait. 

And still will wait in vain. 

Did mourners come in scorn. 

And thus forlorn 
Leave him, with grief and shame. 

To silence and decay, 
And hide the tarnished name 

Of the unconscious clay ? 

It may be from his side 

His loved ones died. 
And, last of some bright band, 

(Together now once more,) 
He sought his home, the land 

Where they had gone before. 

No matter, — limes have made 

As cool a shade. 
And lingering breezes pass 

As tenderly and slow, 
As if beneath the grass 

A monarch slept below. 

No grief, though loud and deep. 

Could stir that sleep ; 
And earth and heaven tell 

Of rest that shall not cease. 
Where the cold world's farewell 

Fades into endless peace. 



GIVE ME THY^ HEART. 

With echoing steps the wor- 
shippers 
Departed one by one ; 
The organ's pealing voice was 
stilled, 
The vesper hymn was done ; 
The shadows fell from roof and 
arch. 
Dim was the incensed air. 
One lamp alone, with trembling 
ray. 
Told of the Presence there ! 

In the dark church she knelt 
alone ; 
Her tears were falling fast ; 
" Help, Lord," she cried, *' the 
shades of death 
Upon my soul are cast ! 
Have I not shunned the path of 
sin, 
And chosen the better part ? " — 
What voice came through the 
sacred air ? — 
" My child, give me thy Heart ! " 

" Have I not laid before Thy 
shrine 
My wealth, O Lord?" she 
cried ; 
" Have I kept aught of gems or 
gold, 
To minister to pride ? 
Have I not bade youth's joy s retire, 
And vain delights depart ? " — 
But sad and tender was the 
voice, — 
" My child^ give me thy Heart ^ " 



44 



GIVE ME THY HEART, 



<* Have I not, Lord, gone day by- 
day 
Where Thy poor children 
dwell ; 
And carried help, and gold, and 
food? 
O Lord, Thou knowest it well ! 
From many a house, from many 
a soul, 
My hand bids care depart " : — 
More sad, more tender was the 
voice, — 
" My child, give me thy Heart ! " 

" Have I not worn my strength 
away 
With fast and penance sore? 
Have I not watched and wept ? " 
she cried ; 
"Did Thy dear Saints do 
more? 
Have I not gained Thy grace, 
O Lord, 
And won in Heaven my 
part ? " — 
It echoed louder in her soul, — 
'* My child f give me thy Heart ! 

*'For I have loved thee with a 
love 
No mortal heart can show; 
A love so deep, my Saints in 
heaven 
Its depths can never know : 
When pierced and wounded on 
the Cross, 
Man's sin and doom were 
mine, 
I loved thee with undying love, 
Immortal and divine ! 



** I loved thee ere the skies were 
spread ; 
My soul bears all thy pains ; 
To gain thy love my sacred 
Heart 
In earthly shrines remains : 
Vain are thy offerings, vain thy 
sighs, 
Without one gift divine ; 
Give it, my child, thy Heart to 
me. 
And it shall rest in mine ! " 

In awe she listened, and the 
shade 
Passed from her soul away ; 
In low and trembling voice she 
cried, — 
" Lord, help me to obey ! 
Break Thou the chains of earth, 
Lord, 
That bind and hold my heart ; 
Let it be Thine, and Thine 
alone. 
Let none with Thee have part. 

*' Send down, O Lord, Thy sa- 
cred fire ! 
Consume and cleanse the sin 
That lingers still within its 
depths : 
Let heavenly love begin. 
That sacred flame Thy Saints 
have known, 
Kindle, O Lord, in me. 
Thou above all the rest forever, 
And all the rest in Thee." 

The blessing fell upon her soul ; 
Her angel by her side 



THE WAYSIDE INN. 



45 



Knew that the hour of peace was 
come ; 
Her soul was purified : 
The shadows fell from roof and 
arch, 
Dim was the incensed air, — 
But Peace went with her as she 
left 
The sacred Presence there ! 



THE WAYSIDE INN. 

A LITTLE past the village 

The Inn stood, low and white ; 
Green shady trees behind it, 

And an orchard on the right ; 
Where over the green paling 

The red-cheeked apples hung. 
As if to watch how wearily 

The sign-board creaked and 
swung. 

The heavy-laden branches, 

Over the road hung low, 
Reflected fruit or blossom 

From the wayside well below ; 
Where children, drawing water, 

Looked up and paused to see. 
Amid the apple-branches, 

A purple Judas-Tree. 

The road stretched winding on- 
ward 

For many a weary mile, — 
So dusty, foot-sore wanderers 

Would pause and rest awhile ; 
And panting horses halted, 

And travellers loved to tell 



The quiet of the wayside inn, 
The orchard, and the well. 

Here Maurice dwelt ; and often 

The sunburnt boy would stand 
Gazing upon the distance. 

And shading with his hand 
His eyes, while watching vainly 

For travellers, who might need 
His aid to loose the bridle, 

And tend the weary steed. 

And once (the boy remembered 

That morning many a day, — 
The dew lay on the hawthorn, 

The bird sang on the spray) 
A train of horsemen, nobler 

Than he had seen before, 
Up from the distance galloped, 

And halted at the door. 

Upon a milk-white pony. 

Fit for a faery queen, 
Was the loveliest little damsel 

His eyes had ever seen : 
A serving-man was holding 

The leading rein, to guide 
The pony and its mistress. 

Who cantered by his side. 

Her sunny ringlets round her 

A golden cloud had made. 
While her large hat was keeping 

Her calm blue eyes in shade ; 
One hand held fast the silken 
reins 

To keep her steed in check, 
The other pulled his tangled 
mane, 

Or stroked his glossy neck. 



46 



THE WAYSIDE INN. 



And as the boy brought water, 

And loosed the rein, he heard 
The sweetest voice that thanked 
him 

In one low gentle word ; 
She turned her blue eyes from 
him, 

Looked up, and smiled to see 
The hanging purple blossoms 

Upon the Judas-Tree ; 

And showed it with a gesture, 
Half pleading, half command, 

Till he broke the fairest blossom, 
And laid it in her hand ; 

And she tied it to her saddle 
With a ribbon from her hair. 

While her happy laugh rang 

gayiy, 

Like silver on the air. 

But the champing steeds were 
rested, — 

The horsemen now spurred on, 
And down the dusty highway 

They vanished and were gone. 
Years passed, and many a trav- 
eller 

Paused at the old inn-door. 
But the little milk-white pony 

And the child returned no 



Years passed, the apple-branches 
A deeper shadow shed ; 

And many a time the Judas-Tree, 
Blossom and leaf, lay dead ; 

When on the loitering western 
breeze 
Came the bells* merry sound, 



And flowery arches rose, and 
flags 
And banners waved around. 

Maurice stood there expectant : 

The bridal train would stay 
Some moments at the inn-door, 

The eager watchers say ; 
They come, — the cloud of dust 
draws near, — 

'Mid all the state and pride. 
He only sees the golden hair 

And blue eyes of the bride. 

The same, yet, ah, still fairer ; 

He knew the face once more 
That bent above the pony's neck 

Years past ut that inn-door : 
Her shy and smiling eyes looked 
round. 

Unconscious of the place. 
Unconscious of the eager gaze 

He fixed upon her face. 

He plucked a blossom from the 
tree, — 
The Judas-Tree, — and cast 
Its purple fragrance towards tho 
Bride, 
A message from the Past. 
The signal came, the horses 
plunged, — 
Once more she smiled around : 
The purple blossom in the dust 
Lay trampled on the ground. 

Again the slow years fleeted, 
Their passage only known 

By the height the Passion-flower 
Around the porch had grown; 



THE WA YSIDE INN. 



And many a passing traveller 
Paused at the old inn-door, 

But the bride, so fair and bloom- 
ing, 
(The bride returned no more. 

One winter morning, Maurice, 

Watching the branches bare. 
Rustling and waving dimly 

In the gray and misty air, 
Saw blazoned on a carriage 

Once more the well-known 
shield. 
The stars and azure fleurs-de-lis 

Upon a silver field. 

He looked — was that pale wo- 
man, 

So grave, so worn, so sad. 
The child, once young and smiling. 

The bride, once fair and glad '? 
What grief had dimmed that 
glory, 

And brought that dark eclipse 
Upon her blue eyes^ radiance, 

And paled those trembling lips ? 

What memory of past sorrow. 

What stab of present pain. 
Brought that deep look of an- 
guish. 

That watched the dismal rain. 
That watched (with the absent 
spirit 

That looks, yet does not see) 
The dead and leafless branches 

Upon the Judas-Tree ? 

The slow dark months crept on- 
ward 
Upon their icy way, 



Till April broke in showers, 
And Spring smiled forth in 
May; 

Upon the apple-blossoms 

The sun shone bright again, 

When slowly up the highway 
Came a long funeral train. 

The bells tolled slowly, sadly, 

For a noble spirit fled ; 
Slowly, in pomp and honor. 

They bore the quiet dead. 
Upon a black-plumed charger 

One rode, who held a shield, 
Where stars and azure fleurs-de- 
lis 

Shone on a silver field. 

'Mid all that homage given 

To a fluttering heart at rest, 
Perhaps an honest sorrow 

Dwelt only in one breast. 
One by the inn-door standing 

Watched with fast - dropping 
tears 
The long procession passing. 

And thought of bygone years. 

The boyish, silent homage 

To child and bride unknown. 
The pitying, tender sorrow 

Kept in his heart alone. 
Now laid upon the coffin 

With a purple flower, might 
be 
Told to the cold, dead sleep 
er ; — 

The rest could only see 
A fragrant purple blossom. 

Plucked from a Judas-Tree* 



48 



THE DARK SIDE. 



VOICES OF THE PAST. 

You wonder that my tears should 
flow- 
In listening to that simple 
strain ; 
That those unskilful sounds 
should fill 
My soul with joy and pain : 
How can you tell what thoughts 
it stirs 
Within my heart again ? 

You wonder why that common 
phrase, 
So all unmeaning to your ear, 
Should stay me in my merriest 
mood, 
And thrill my soul to hear : 
How can you tell what ancient 
charm 
Has made me hold it dear ? 

You marvel that I turn away 
From all those flowers so fair 
and bright. 
And gaze at this poor herb, till 
tears 
Arise and dim my sight : 
You cannot tell how every leaf 
Breathes of a past delight. 

You smile to see me turn and 
speak 
With one whose converse you 
despise ; 
You do not see the dreams of old 

That with his voice arise : 
How can you tell what links have 
made 
Him sacred in my eyes ? 



O, these are Voices of the Past, 
Links of a broken chain. 

Wings that can bear me back to 
Times 
Which cannot come again ; 

Yet God forbid that I should Ic^e 
The echoes that remain ! 



THE DARK SIDE. 

Thou hast done well, perhaps. 

To lift the bright disguise, 
And lay the bitter truth 

Before our shrinking eyes ; 
When evil crawls below 

What seems so pure and fair, 
Thine eyes are keen and true 

To find the serpent there : 
And yet — I turn away ; 

Thy task is not divine, — 
The evil angels look 

On earth with eyes like thine. 

Thou hast done well, perhaps, 

To show how closely wound 
Dark threads of sin and self 

With our best deeds are found, 
How great and nobie hearts, 

Striving for lofty aims, 
Have still some earthly chord 

A meaner spirit claims ; 
And yet — although thy task 

Is well and fairly done — 
Methinks for such as thou 

There is a holier one. 

Shadows there are, who dwell 
Among us, yet apart, 



MURMURS. 



49 



Deaf to the claim of God, 

Or kindly human heart ; 
Voices of earth and heaven 

Call, but they turn away, 
And Love, through such black 
night 

Can see no hope of day ; 
And yet — our eyes are dim, 

And thine are keener far : 
Then gaze till thou canst see 

The glimmer of some star. 

The black stream flows along 

Whose waters we despise, — 
Show us reflected there 

Some fragment of the skies ; 
'Neath tangled thorns and briers, 

(The task is fit for thee,) 
Seek for the hidden flowers, 

We are too blind to see ; 
Then will I thy great gift 

A crown and blessing call ; 
Angels look thus on men. 

And God sees good in all ! 



A FIRST SORROW. 

Arise ! this day shall shine, 

Forevermore, 
To thee a star divine, 

On Time's dark shore. 

Till now thy soul has been 

All glad and gay : 
Bid it awake and look 

At grief to-day ! 

No shade has come between 
Thee and the sun ; 



Like some long childish dream 
Thy life has run : 

But now the stream has reached 

A dark, deep sea. 
And Sorrow, dim and crowned. 

Is waiting thee. 

Each of God^s soldiers bears 

A sword divine : 
Stretch out thy trembling hands 

To-day for thine ! 

To each anointed Priest 
God's summons came : 

Soul, he speaks to-day, 
And calls thy name. 

Then, with slow reverent step, 

And beating heart, 
From out thy joyous days 

Thou must depart. 

And, leaving all behind, 

Come forth alone. 
To join the chosen band 

Around the throne. 

Raise up thine eyes — be strong. 

Nor cast away 
The crown that God has given 

Thy soul to-day ! 



MURMURS. 

Why wilt thou make bright 
music 

Give forth a sound of pain ? 
Why wilt thou weave fair flowers 

Into a weary chain ? 



50 



MY JOURNAL. 



Why turn each cool gray shadow 
Into a world of fears ? 

Why say the winds are wailing ? 
Why call the dew-drops tears ? 

The voices of happy nature, 
And the Heaven's sunny 
gleam, 

Reprove thy sick heart's fancies, 
Upbraid thy foolish dream. 

Listen, and I will tell thee 

The song Creation sings. 
From the humming of bees in 

the heather. 
To the flutter of angels' wings. 

An echo rings forever. 

The sound can never cease ; 

It speaks to God of glory, 
It speaks to Earth of peace. 

Not alone did angels sing it 
To the poor shepherds' ear ; 

But the sphered Heavens chant it, 
While listening ages hear. 

Above thy peevish wailing 

Rises that holy song ; 
Above Earth's foolish clamor. 

Above the voice of wrong. 

No creature of God 's too lowly 
To murmur peace and praise : 

When the starry nights grow 
silent, 
Then speak the sunny days. 

So leave thy sick heart's fancies, 
And lend thy little voice 

To the silver song of glory 
That bids the world rejoice. 



GIVE. 

See the rivers flowing 

Downwards to the sea. 
Pouring all their treasures 

Bountiful and free : 
Yet to help their giving 

Hidden springs arise; 
Or, if need be, showers 

Feed them from the skies \ 

Watch the princely flowers 

Their rich fragrance spread. 
Load the air with perfumes. 

From their beauty shed : 
Yet their lavish spending 

Leaves them not in dearth. 
With fresh life replenished 

By their mother earth ! 

Give thy heart's best treasures,. - 

From fair Nature learn ; 
Give thy love — and ask not. 

Wait not a return ! 
And the more thou spendest 

From thy little store, 
With a double bounty. 

God will give thee more. 



MY JOURNAL. 

It is a dreary evening ; 

The shadows rise and fall : 
With strange and ghostly 
changes, 

They flicker on the wall 

Make the charred logs b-irn 
brighter ; 
I will show you, by their blaze, 



MY JOURNAL. 



51 



The half-forgotten record 
Of bygone things and days. 

Bring here the ancient volume ; 

The clasp is old and worn, 
The gold is dim and tarnished, 

And the faded leaves are torn. 

The dust has gathered on it, — 
There are so few who care 

To read what Time has written 
Of joy and sorrow there. 

Look at the first fair pages ; 

Yes, I remember all : 
The joys now seem so trivial, 

The griefs so poor and small. 

Let us read the dreams of glory 
That childish fancy made ; 

Turn to the next few pages. 
And see how soon they fade. 

Here, where still waiting, dream- 
ing, 

For some ideal Life, 
The young heart all unconscious 

Had entered on the strife. 

See how this page is blotted : 
What, could those tears be 
mine? 
How coolly I can read you 
Each blurred and trembling 
line ! 

Now I can reason calmly, 
And, looking back again. 

Can see divinest meaning 

Threading each separate pain. 



Here strong resolve — how bro- 
ken ; 

Rash hope, and foolish fear. 
And prayers, which God in pity 

Refused to grant or hear. 

Nay, I will turn the pages 
To where the tale is told 

Of how a dawn diviner 

Flushed the dark clouds with 
gold. 

And see, that light has gilded 
The story, — nor shall set ; 

And, though in mist and shadow, 
You know I see it yet. 

Here — well, it does not matter, 
I promised to read all ; 

I know not why I falter, 

Or why my tears should fall ; 

You see each grief is noted ; 

Yet it w^as better so — 
I can rejoice to-day — the pain 

Was over, long ago. 

I read — my voice is failing. 
But you can understand 

How the heart beat that guided 
This weak and trembling hand 

Pass over that long struggle, 
Read where the comfort came. 

Where the first time is written 
Within the book your name. 

Again it comes, and oftener. 
Linked, as it now must be, 

With all the joy or sorrow 
That Life may bring to me. 



52 



A CHAIN. 



So all the rest — you know it : 
Now shut the clasp again, 

And put aside the record 
Of bygone hours of pain. 

The dust shall gather on it, 
I will not read it more : 

Give me your hand — what was 
it 
We were talking ef before ? 

I know not why — but tell me 
Of something gay and bright. 

It is strange — my heart is heavy, 
And my eyes are dim to-night. 



A CHAIN. 

The bond that links our souls 

together ; 
Will it last through stormy 

weather *? 
Will it moulder and decay 
As the long hours pass away 1 
Will it stretch if Fate divide us, 
When dark and weary hours 

have tried us ? 
0; if it look too poor and slight, 
Let us break the links to-night ! 

It was not forged by mortal 

hands, 
Or clasped with golden bars and 

bands ; 
Save thine and mine, no other 

eyes 
The slender link can recognize : 
In the bright light it seems to 

fade — 



And it is hidden in the shade ; 
While Heaven nor Earth have 

never heard, 
Or solemn vow, or plighted word. 

Yet what no mortal hand could 

make. 
No mortal power can ever break ; 
What words or vows could never 

do, 
No words or vows can make un- 
true ; 
And if to other hearts unknown 
The dearer and the more our own. 
Because too sacred and divine 
For other eyes, save thine and 
mine. 

And see, though slender, it is 

made 
Of Love and Trust, and can they 

fade? 
While, if too slight it seem, to 

bear 
The breathings of the summer 

air, 
We know that it could bear the 

weight 
Of a most heavy heart of late. 
And as each day and hour flew 
The stronger for its burden grew. 

And, too, we know and feel again 
It has been sanctified by pain. 
For what God deigns to try with 

sorrow 
Pie means not to decay to-mor- 
row ; 
But through that fiery trial last 
When earthly ties and bonds are 
past; 



INCOMPLE TEN ESS. 



53 



What slighter things dare not 

endure 
Will make our Love more safe 

and pure. 

i 
Love shall be purified by Pain, 
And Pain be soothed by Love 

again : 
So let us now take heart and go 
Cheerfully on, through joy and 

woe ; 
No change the summer sun can 

bring, 
Or the inconstant skies of spring, 
Or the bleak winter's stormy 

weather, 
For we shall meet them, Love, 

together ! 



THE PILGRIMS. 

The way is long and dreary, 
The path is bleak and bare ; 
Our feet are worn and weary. 
But we will not despair. 
More heavy was Thy burden, 
More desolate Thy way ; — 
O Lamb of God who takest 
The sin of the world away. 
Have mercy on us. 

The snows lie thick around us 
In the dark and gloomy night ; 
And the tempest wails above us. 
And the stars have hid their 

light ; 
But blacker was the darkness 
Round Calvary's Cross that 

day; — 



Lamb of God who takest 

The sin of the world away. 

Have mercy on us. 

Our hearts are faint with sorrow, 
Heavy and hard to bear ; 
For we dread the bitter morrow. 
But we will not despair : 
Thou knowest all our anguish. 
And Thou wilt bid it cease, — 
O Lamb of God who takest 
The sin of the world away. 
Give us Thy Peace ! 



INCOMPLETENESS 

Nothing resting in its own 

completeness 
Can have worth or beauty : but 

alone 
Because it leads and tends to 

further sweetness. 
Fuller, higher, deeper than its 

own. 

Spring's real glory dwells not 
in the meaning, 

Gracious though it be, of her 
blue hours ; 

But is hidden in her tender lean- 
ing 

To the Summer's richer wealth 
of flowers. 

Dawn is fair, because the mists 

fade slowly 
Into Day, which floods the world 

with light ; 



54 



A LEGEND OF BREGENZ. 



Twilight's mystery is so sweet 

and holy 
Just because it ends in starry 

Night. 

Childhood's smiles unconscious 
graces borrow 

From Strife, that in a far-off fu- 
ture lies ; 

And angel glances (veiled now 
by Life's sorrow) 

Draw our hearts to some beloved 



Life is only bright when it pro- 

ceedeth 
Towards a truer, deeper Life 

above ; 
Human Love is sweetest when it 

leadeth 
To a more divine and perfect 

Love. 

Learn the mystery of Progression 

duly: 
Do not call each glorious change, 

Decay ; 
But know we only hold our 

treasures truly, 
When it seems as if they passed 

away. 

Nor dare to blame God's gifts 

for incompleteness ; 
In that want their beauty lies : 

they roll 
Towards some infinite depth of 

love and sweetness. 
Bearing onward man's reluctant 

soul. 



A LEGEND OF BREGENZ. 

Girt round with rugged moun- 
tains 

The fair Lake Constance lies ; 
In her blue heart reflected 

Shine back the starry skies ; 
And, watching each white cloud- 
let 

Float silently and slow. 
You think a piece of Heaven 

Lies on our earth below ! 

Midnight is there : and Silence, 

Enthroned in Heaven, looks 
down 
Upon her own calm mirror, 

Upon a sleeping town : 
For Bregenz, that quaint city 

Upon the Tyrol shore, 
Has stood above Lake Constance 

A thousand years and more. 

Her battlements and towers. 

From off their rocky steep, 
Have cast their trembling shadow 

For ages on the deep : 
Mountain, and kke, and valley, 

A sacred legend know, 
Of how the town was saved, one 
night, 

Three hundred years ago. 

Far from her home and kindred, 

A Tyrol maid had fled. 
To serve in the Swiss valleys, 

And toil for daily bread ; 
And every year that fleeted 

So silently and fast, 
Seemed to bear farther from her 

The memory of the Past. 



A LEGEND OF BREGENZ. 



55 



She served kind, gentle masters, 

Nor asked for rest or change ; 
Iler friends seemed no more new 
ones, 

Their speech seemed no more 
strange ; 
And when she led her cattle 

To pasture every day, 
She ceased to look and wonder 

On which side Bregenz lay. 

She spoke no more of Bregenz, 

With longing and with tears ; 
Her Tyrol home seemed faded 

In a deep mist of years ; 
She heeded not the rumors 

Of Austrian war and strife ; 
Each day she rose, contented, 

To the calm toils of life. 

Yet, v/hen her master^s children 

Would clustering round her 
stand. 
She sang them ancient ballads 

Of her own native land ; 
And when at morn and evening 

She knelt before God's throne. 
The accents of her childhood 

Rose to her lips alone. 

And so she dwelt : the valley 

More peaceful year by year ; 
When suddenly strange portents 

Of some great deed seemed 
near. 
The golden corn was bending 

Upon its fragile stock, 
While farmers, hee<3^less of their 
fields, 

Paced up and ^'^wn in talk. 



The men seemed stern and al 
tered, 

With looks cast on the ground; 
With anxious faces, one by one, 

The women gathered round ; 
All talk of flax, or spinning. 

Or work, was put away ; 
The very children seemed afraid 

To go alone to play. 

One day, out in the meadow 

With strangers from the town, 
Some secret plan discussing. 

The men walked up and down. 
Yet now and then seemed watch- 
ing 

A strange uncertain gleam. 
That looked like lances 'mid the 
trees, 

That stood below the stream. 

At eve they all assembled, 

Then care and doubt were fled ; 
With jovial laugh they feasted ; 

The board was nobly spread. 
The elder of the village 

Rose up, his glass in hand. 
And cried, " We drink the down- 
fall 

Of an accursed land ! 

<* The night is growing darker. 

Ere one more day is flown, 
Bregenz, our foemen's strong- 
hold, 

Bregenz shall be our own ! " 
The women shrank in terror, 

(Yet Pride, too, had her part,) 
But one poor Tyrol maiden 

Felt death within her heart. 



56 



A LEGEND OF BREGENZ. 



Before her stood fair Bregenz ; 

Once more her towers arose ; 
What were the friends beside her ? 

Only her country's foes ! 
The faces of her kinsfolk, 

The days of childhood flown, 
The echoes of her mountains, 

Reclaimed her as their own ! 

Nothing she heard around her, 
(Though shouts rang forth 
again,) 
Gone were the green Swiss val- 
leys, 
The pasture, and the plain ; 
Before her eyes one vision, 

And in her heart one cry, 
That said, " Go forth, save Bre- 
genz, 
And then, if need be, die ! " 

With trembling haste and breath- 
less, 
With noiseless step, she sped ; 
Horses and weary cattle 

Were standing in the shed ; 
She loosed the strong, white 
charger, 
That fed from out her hand. 
She mounted, and she turned 
his head 
Towards her native land. 

Out — out into the darkness — 

Faster, and still more fast ; 
Thesmooth grassflies behind her, 

The chestnut wood is past ; 
She looks up ; clouds are heavy : 

Why is her steed so slow ? — 
Scarcely the wind beside them 

Can pass them as they go. 



" Faster ! " she cries, " fast- 
er ! " 

Eleven the church-bells chime : 
"O God,'' she cries, help Bre- 
genz, 

And bring me there in time ! *' 
But louder than bells' ringing, 

Or lowing of the kine. 
Grows nearer in the midnight 

The rushing of the Rhine. 

Shall not the roaring waters 

Their headlong gallop check ? 
The steed diaws back in terror, 

She leans upon his neck 
To watch the flowing darkness ; 

The bank is high and steep ; 
One pause — he staggers for- 
ward. 

And plunges in the deep. 

She strives to pierce the blackness, 

And looser throws the rein ; 
Her steed must breast the waters- 

That dash above his mane. 
How gallantly, how nobly, 

He struggles through the foam, 
And see — in the far distance 

Shine out the lights of home ! 

Up the steep banks he bears her, 

And now, they rush again 
Towards the heights of Bregenz 

That tower above the plain. 
They reach the gate of Bregenz, 

Just as the midnight rings. 
And out comes serf and soldier 

To meet the news she brings. 

Bregenz is saved ! Ere daylight 
Her battlements are manned; 



SOWING AND REAPING. 



57 



Defiance greets the army 
That marches on the land. 

And if to deeds heroic 

Should endless fame be paid, 

Bregenz does well to honor 
The noble Tyrol maid. 

Three hundred years are van- 
ished, 

And yet upon the hill 
An old stone gateway rises. 

To do her honor still. 
And there, when Bregenz women 

Sit spinning in the shade, 
They see in quaint old carving 

The Charger and the Maid. 

And when, to guard old Bregenz, 

By gateway, street, and tower, 
The warder paces all night long 

And calls each passing hour ; 
*'Nine," "ten," "eleven," he 
cries aloud. 

And then (O crown of Fame !) 
When midnight pauses in the 
skies, 

He calls the maiden's name ! 



A FAKEWELL. 

Farewell, dream of mine ! 

I dare not stay ; 
The hour is come, and time 

Will not delay : 
Pleasant and dear to me 

Wilt thou remain ; 
No future hour 

Brings thee again. 



She stands, the Future dim,. 

And draws me on. 
And shows me dearer joys, — 

But thou art gone ! 
Treasures and Hopes more fair 

Bears she for me, 
And yet I linger, 

O dream, with thee? 

Other and brighter days 

Perhaps she brings ; 
Deeper and holier songs 

Perchance she sings ; 
But thou and I, fair time. 

We too must sever : — 
dream of mine. 

Farewell forever ! 



SOWING AND REAPING. 

Sow with a generous hand ; 
Pause not for toil or pain ; 
Weary not through the heat of 
summer. 
Weary not through the cold 
spring rain ; 
But wait till the autumn comes 
For the sheaves of golden 
grain. 

Scatter the seed, and fear not, 
A table will be spread ; 

What matter if you are too weary 
To eat your hard - earned 
bread ! 

Sow, while the earth is broken, 
For the hungry must be fed. 



:^8 



THE STORM. 



Sow; — while the seeds are lying 
In the warm earth's bosom 
deep, 
And your warm tears fall upon 
it,— 
They will stir in their quiet 
sleep ; 
And the green blades rise the 
quicker, 
Perchance, for the tears you 
weep. 

Then sow ; — for the hours are 
fleeting. 
And the seed must fall to-day ; 
And care not what hands shall 
reap it. 
Or if you shall have passed 
away 
Before the waving cornfields 
Shall gladden the sunny day. 

Sow ; and look onward, upward. 
Where the starry light ap- 
pears, — 
Where, in spite of the coward's 
doubting, 
Or your own heart's trembling 
fears. 
You shall reap in joy the harvest 
You have sown to-day in tears. 



THE STORM. 

The tempest rages wild and 

high. 
The waves lift up their voice and 

cry 



Fierce answers to the angry 
sky, — 

Miserere Domine. 

Through the black night and 

driving rain 
A ship is struggling, all in 

vain. 
To live upon the stormy main ; — 
Miserere Domine. 

The thunders roar, the light- 
nings glare, 
Yain is it now to strive or dare ; 
A cry goes up of great despair, — 
Miserere Domine. 

The stormy voices of the main, 
The moaning wind and pelting 

rain 
Beat on the nursery window 

pane : — 

Miserere Domine. 

Warm curtained was the littlft 

bed, 
Soft pillowed was the httle 

head; 
" The storm will wake the child/' 

they said : — 

Miserere Domine. 

Cowering among his pillows 
white 

He prays, his blue eyes dim with 
fright, 

" Father, save those at sea to- 
night!"— 

Miserere Domine. 



WORDS. 



5& 



The morning shone all clear and 

gay, 
On a ship at anchor in the bay, 
And on a little child at play, — 
Gloria tihi Domine ! 



WOKDS. 

Words are lighter than the 
cloud-foam 
Of the restless ocean spray ; 
Vainer than the trembling shad- 
ow 
That the next hour steals 
away. 
By the fall of summer rain-drops 

Is the air as deeply stirred ; 
And the rose-leaf that we tread 
on 
Will outlive li. word. 

Yet, on the dull silence breaking 
With alightning flash, a Word, 
Bearing endless desolation 
On its blighting wings, I 
heard : 
Earth can forge no keener 
weapon, 
Dealing surer death and pain, 
And the cruel echo answered 
Through long years again. 

I have known one word hang 
starlike 
O'er a dreary waste of years, 
xVnd it only shone the brighter 
Looked at through a mist of 
tears ; 



While a weary wanderer gath- 
ered 
Hope and heart on Life's dark 
way. 
By its faithful promise, shining 
Clearer day by day. 

I have known a spirit, calmer 
Than the calmest lake, and 
clear 
As the heavens that gazed upon 
it. 
With no wave of hope or fear ; 
But a storm had swept across 
it, 
And its deepest depths were 
stirred, 
(Never, never more to slumber,) 
Only by a word. 

I have known a word more gentle 
Than the breath of summer 
air; 
In a listening heart it nestled. 

And it lived forever there. 
Not the beating of its prison 

Stirred it ever, night or day ; 
Only with the heart's last throb- 
bing 
Could it fade away. 

Words are mighty, words are 
living : 
Serpents with their venomous 
stings, 
Or bright angels, crowding round 
us. 
With heaven's light upon their 
wings : 
Every word has its own spirit, 



60 



A TRYST WITH DEATH. 



True or false, that never dies ; 
Every word man^s lips have ut- 
tered 
Echoes in God's skies. 



A LOVE TOKEN. 

Do you grieve no costly offer- 
ing 

To the Lady you can make ? 
Oue there is, and gifts less worthy 

Queens have stooped to take. 

Take a Heart of virgin silver. 
Fashion it with heavy blows, 

Cast it into Love's hot furnace 
When it fiercest glows. 

With Pain's sharpest point trans- 
fix it. 
And then carve, in letters fair. 
Tender dreams and quaint de- 
vices. 
Fancies sweet and rare. 

Set within it Hope's blue sap- 
phire. 

Many-changing opal. fears. 
Blood-red ruby-stones of daring, 

Mixed with pearly tears. 

And when you have wrought and 
labored 
Till the gift is all complete. 
You may humbly lay your offer- 
ing 
At the Lady's feet. 



Should her mood perchance Iw 
gracious, 

With disdainful, smiling pride, 
She will place it with the trinkets 

Glittering at her side. 



A TRYST WITH DEATH. 

I AM footsore and very weary, \ 
But I travel to meet a Friendtj 

The way is long and dreary, 
But I know that it soon must 
end. 

He is travelling fast like th's 
whirlwind. 

And though I creep slowly on 
We are drawing nearer, nearer, 

And the journey is almost done 

Through the heat of many sum 
mers. 
Through many a springtime 
rain. 
Through long autumns and weary 
winters, 
I have hoped to meet him, in 
vain. 

I know that he will not fail me. 
So I count every hour chime, 

Every throb of my own heart's- 
beating. 
That tells of the flight of Time. 

On the day of my birth he 
plighted 
His kingly word to me ; — 



FIDELIS. 



61 



t have seen him in dreams so often, 
That I know what his smile 
must be. 

have toiled through the sunny 
i woodland, 

^Through fields that basked in 
the light ; 
And through the lone paths in 
the forest 
I crept in the dead of night. 

I will not fear at his coming, 
Although I must meet him 
alone ; 

He will look in my eyes so gently, 
And take my hand in his own. 

liike a dream all my toil will 
vanish, 
When I lay my head on his 
breast : 
But the journey is very weary. 
And he only can give mo rest ! 



FIDELIS. 

You have taken back the promise 

That you spoke so long ago ; 
Taken back the heart you gave 
me, — 

I must even let it go. 
Where Love once has breathed, 
Pride dieth : 

So I struggled, but in vain, 
First to keep the links together. 

Then to piece the broken chain, 



But it might not be — so freely 

All your friendship I restore, 
And the heart that I had taken 

As my own forevermore. 
No shade of reproach shall touch 
you. 

Dread no more a claim from 
me : 
But I will not have you fancy 

That I count myself as free. 

I am bound by the old promise ; 
What can break that golden 
chain ? 
Not even the words that you have 
spoken. 
Or the sharpness of my pain : 
Do you think, because you fail 
me 
And draw back your hand to- 
day. 
That from out the heart I gave 
you 
My strong love can fade away ? 

It will live. No eyes may see it ; 

In my soul it will lie deep. 
Hidden from all ; but I shall feel 
it 

Often stirring in its sleep. 
So remember, that the friendship. 

Which you now think poor 
and vain, 
Will endure in hope and patience, 

Till you ask for it again. 

Perhaps in some long twilight 
hour. 
Like those we have known of 
old. 



62 



TUE SAILOR BOY. 



When past shadows gather round 
you, 
And your present friends grow- 
cold, 
You may stretch your hands out 
towards me, — 
Ah ! you will — I know not 
when — 
I shall nurse my love and keep it 
Faithfully, for you, till then. 



A SHADOW. 

What lack the valleys and 
mountains 
That once were green and gay ? 
What lack the babbling foun- 
tains ? 
Their voice is sad to-day. 
Only the sound of a voice. 
Tender and sweet and low. 
That made the earth rejoice, 
A year ago ! 

What lack the tender flowers ? 

A shadow is on the sun : 
What lack the merry hours, 
That I long that they were 
done ? 
Only two smiling eyes, 
That told of joy and mirth ; 
They are shining in the skies, 
I mourn on earth ! 

What lacks my heart, that makes 
it 

So weary and full of pain. 
That trembling Hope forsakes it. 

Never to come again ? 



Only another heart. 
Tender and all mine own, 
In the still grave it lies ; 
I weep alone ! 



THE SAILOR BOY. 

My Life you ask of? why, yo? 

know 
Full soon my little Life is told ; 
It has had no great joy or woe. 
For I am only twelve years old. 
Erelong I hope I shall have been 
On my first voyage, and wonderf 

seen. 
Some princess I may help to frel 
From pirates on a far-off sea ; 
Or, on some desert isle be left. 
Of friends and shipmates all bereft 

For the first time I venture 

forth 
From our blue mountains of th« 

north. 
My kinsman kept the lodge that 

stood 
Guarding the entrance near the 

wood. 
By the stone gateway gray and 

old. 
With quaint devices carved about. 
And broken shields ; while drag- 
ons bold 
Glared on the common world 

without : 
And the long trembling ivy spray 
Half hid the centuries' decay. 
In solitude and silence grand 



THE SAILOR BOY. 



«3 



The castle towered above the 

land : 
The castle of the Earl, whose 

. name 
(Wrapped in old bloody legends) 

came 
Down through the times when 

Truth and Right 
Bent down to armed Pride and 

Might. 
He owned the country far and 

near ; 
And, for some weeks in every 

year, 
(When the brown leaves were 

falling fast 
And the long, lingering autumn 

past,) 
He would come down to hunt 

the deer, 
With hound and horse in splen- 
did pride. 
The story lasts the live-long year, 
The peasant^s winter evening 

fills, 
When he is gone and they abide 
In the lone quiet of their hills. 

I longed, too, for the happy 

night, 
When, all with torches flaring 

bright, 
The crowding villagers would 

stand, 
A patient, eager, waiting band. 
Until the signal ran like flame, 
^< They come ! " and, slackening 

speed, they came. 
Outriders first, in pomp and 

state, 



Pranced on their horses through 

the gate ; 
Then the four steeds as black as 

night. 
All decked with trappings blue 

and white. 
Drew through the crowd that 

opened wide, 
The Earl and Countess side by 

side. 
The stern grave Earl, with for 

mal smile 
And glistening eyes and stately 

pride. 
Could ne'er my childish gaze be- 
guile 
From the fair presence by his 

side. 
The lady's soft sad glance, her 

eyes, 
(Like stars that shone in sum- 
mer skies,) 
Her pure white face so calmly bent. 
With gentle greetings round her 

sent; 
Her look, that always seemed to 

gaze 
Where the blue past had closed 

again 
Over some happy shipwrecked 

days. 
With all their freight of love and 

pain : 
She did not even seem to see 
The little lord upon her knee. 
And yet he was like angel fair, 
With rosy cheeks and golden 

hair, 
That fell on shoulders white as 

snow : 



64 



THE SAILOR BOY. 



But the blue eyes that shone below 
His clustering rings of auburn 

curls 
Were not his mother^s, but the 

Earrs. 

I feared the Earl, so cold and 

grim, 
I never dared be seen by him. 
When through our gate he used 

to ride. 
My kinsman Walter bade me 

hide; 
He said he was so stern. 
So, when the hunt came past 

our way, 
I always hastened to obey, 
Until I heard the bugles play 
The notes of their return. 
But she, — my very heart-strings 

stir 
Whene'er I speak or think of 

her, — 
The whole wide world could 

never see 
A noble lady such as she, 
So full of angel charity. 

Strange things of her our 

neighbors told 
In the long winter evenings cold, 
Around the fire. They would 

draw near 
And speak half- whispering, as in 

fear; 
As if they thought the Earl 

could hear 
Their treason 'gainst his name. 
They thought the story that his 

pride 



Had stooped to wed a low-born 

bride, 
A stain upon his fame. 
Some said 't was false ; there 

could not be 
Such blot on his nobility : 
But others vowed that they h{\d 

heard 
The actual story word for worr*, 
From one who well my la(<y 

knew, 
And had declared the story true. 

In a far village, little known 
She dwelt — so ran the tale • ^ 

alone. 
A widowed bride, yet, oh! fo 

bright, 
Shone through the mist of grie'i; 

her charms ; 
They said it was the loveliet-l; 

sight — 
She with her baby in her arms 
The Earl, one summer morning;, 

rode 
By the sea-shore where she 

abode ; 
Again he came — that vision 

sweet 
Drew him reluctant to her feet. 
Fierce must the struggle in his 

heart 
Have been, between his love and 

pride, 
Until he chose that wondrous 

part, 
To ask her to become his bride. 
Yet, ere his noble name she here, 
He made her vow that nevermore 
She would behold her child again, 



TEE SAILOR BOY. 



65 



But hide his name and hers from 

men. 
The trembling promise duly- 
spoken, 
All links of the low past were 

broken ; 
And she arose to take her stand 
Amid the nobles of the land. 
Vhen all would wonder — could 

it be 
That one so lowly born as she, 
Raised to such height of bliss, 

should seem 
Still living in some weary dream ? 
^T is true she bore with calmest 

grace 
The honors of her lofty place. 
Yet never smiled, in peace or joy, 
Not even to greet her princely 

boy. 
She heard, with face of white de- 
spair, 
The cannon thunder through the 

air. 
That she had given the Earl an 

heir. 
Nay, even more, (they whispered 

low, 
As if they scarce durst fancy so,) 
That, through her lofty wedded 

life, 
No word, no tone, betrayed the 

wife. 
Her look seemed ever in the 

past ; 
Never to him it grew more 

sweet ; 
The self-same weary glance she 

cast 
Upon the greyhound at her feet. 



As upon him, who bade her 

claim 
The crowning honor of his name. 

This gossip, if old Walter 

heard. 
He checked it with a scornful 

word: 
I never durst such tales repeat ; 
He was too serious and discreet 
To speak of what his lord might 

do; 
Besides, he loved my lady too. 
And many a time, I recollect, 
They were together in the wood ; 
He, with an air of grave re- 
spect. 
And earnest look, uncovered 

stood. 
And though their speech I never 

heard, 
(Save now and then a louder 

word,) 
I saw he spake as none but one 
She loved and trusted durst have 

done ; 
For oft I watched them in the 

shade 
That the close forest branches 

made. 
Till slanting golden sunbeams 

came 
And smote the fir-trees into 

flame, 
A radiant glory round her lit. 
Then down her white robes 

seemed to flit. 
Gilding the brown leaves on the 

ground, 
And all the waving ferns around* 



THE SAILOR BOY. 



While by some gloomy pine she 

leant 
And he in earnest talk would 

stand, 
I saw the tear-drops, as she bent. 
Fall on the flowers in her 

hand. — 
Strange as it seemed and seems 

to be, 
That one so sad, so cold as she, 
Could love a little child like me, 
Yet so it was. I never heard 
Such tender words as she would 

say. 
And murmurs, sweeter than a 

word, 
Would breathe upon me as I lay. 
While I, in smiling joy, would 

rest, 
For hours, my head upon her 

breast. 
Our neighbors said that none 

could see 
In me the common childish 

charms, 
(So grave and still I used to be,) 
And yet she held me in her arms. 
In a fond clasp, so close, so tight, 
I often dream of it at night. 
She bade me tell her all, - — no 

other 
My childish thoughts e'er cared 

to know : 
For I — I never knew my moth- 
er; 
I was an orphan long ago. 
And I could all my fancies pour. 
That gentle, loving face before. 
She liked to hear me tell her 

all; 



How that day I had climbed the 

tree. 
To make the largest fir-cones 

fall ; 
And how one day I hoped to be 
A sailor on the deep blue sea, — 
She loved to hear it all ! 

Then wondrous things she 

used to tell, 
Of the strange dreams that she 

had known. 
I used to love to hear them 

well, 
If only for her sweet low tone, 
Sometimes so sad, although I 

knew 
That such things never could be 

true. 
One day she told me such a tale 
It made me grow all cold and pale, 
The fearful thing she told ! 
Of a poor woman mad and wild 
Who coined the life-blood of her 

child. 
And, tempted by a fiend, had 

sold 
The heart out of her breast for 

gold. 
But when she saw me frightened 

seem, 
She smiled, and said it was a 

dream. 
When I look back and think of 

her. 
My very heart-strings seem to 

stir ; 
How kind, how fair she was, how 

good, 
I cannot tell you. If I could, 



THE SAILOR BOY. 



67 



You, too, would love her. The 

mere thought 
Of her great love for me has 

brought 
Tears in my eyes : though far 

away, 
It seems as it were yesterday. 
And just as when I look on high. 
Through the blue silence of the 

sky, 
Fresh stars shine out, and more 

and more, 
Where I could see so few before ; 
So, the more steadily I gaze 
Upon those far-off misty days, 
Fresh words, fresh tones, fresh 

memories start 
Before my eyes and in my heart. 
I can remember how one day 
(Talking in silly childish way) 
I said how happy I should be 
If I were like her son, — as fair, 
With just such bright blue eyes 

as he, 
And such long locks of golden 

hair. 
A strange smile on her pale face 

broke, 
And in strange, solemn words 

she spoke : 
*' My own, my darling one, — 

no, no ! 
I love you, far, far better so. 
I would not change the look you 

bear. 
Or one wave of your dark brown 

hair. 
The mere glance of your sunny 

eyes, 
Deep in my deepest soul I prize 



Above that baby fair ! 

Not one of all the Earl's proud 

line 
In beauty ever matched with 

thine ; 
And, 't is by thy dark locks thou 

art 
Bound even faster round my 

heart, 
And made more wholly mine ! '* 
And then she paused, and weep- 
ing said, 
" You are like one who now is 

dead, — 
Who sleeps in a far-distant grave. 
O, may God grant that you may 

be 
As noble and as good as he, 
As gentle and as brave ! " 
Then in my childish way I cried, 
" The one you tell me of who died, 
Was he as noble as the Earl ? " 
I see her red lips scornful curl, 
I feel her hold my hand again, 
So tightly, that I shrink in 

pain, — 
I seem to hear her say, 
'< He whom I tell you of, who 

died. 
He was so noble and so gay, 
So generous and so brave, 
That the proud Earl by his dear 

side 
Would look a craven slave." 
She paused ; then, with a quiv- 
ering sigh. 
She laid her hand upon my 

brow : 
" Live like him, darling, and '50 

die. 



68 



THE SAILOR BOY. 



Remember that he tells you now, 

True peace, real honor, and con- 
tent, 

In cheerful, pious toil abide ; 

That gold and splendor are but 
sent 

To curse our vanity and pride/' 

One day some childish fever 

pain 
Burnt in my veins and fired my 

brain. 
Moaning, I turned from side to 

side; 
And, sobbing in my bed, I cried, 
Till night in calm and darkness 

crept 
Around me, and at last I slept. 
When suddenly I woke to see 
The Lady bending over me. 
The drops of cold November rain 
Were falling from her long, damp 

hair ; 
Her anxious eyes were dim with 

pain; 
Yet she looked wondrous fair. 
Arrayed for some great feast she 

came. 
With stones that shone and burnt 

like flame ; 
Wound round her neck, like some 

bright snake, 
And set like stars within her hair. 
They sparkled so, they seemed 

to make 
A glory everywhere. 
I felt her tears upon my face, 
Her kisses on my eyes ; 
And a strange thought I could 

not trace 



I felt within my heart arise ; 
And, half in feverish pain, I 

said ; 
" O if my mother were not 

dead ! " 
And Walter bade me sleep ; but 

she 
Said, " Is it not the same to thee 
That / watch by thy bed ? " 
I answered her, "I love you, 

too; 
But it can never be the same ; 
She was no Countess like to you, 
Nor wore such sparkling stones 

of flame." 

the wild look of fear and 

dread ! 
The cry she gave of bitter woe ! 

1 often wonder what I said 

To make her moan and shudder 
so. 

Through the long night she tend- 
ed me 

With such sweet care and charity. 

But I should weary you to tell 

All that I know and love so well ; 

Yet one night more stands out 
alone 

With a sad sweetness all its own. 

The wind blew loud that drea- 
ry night : 

Its wailing voice I well remem- 
ber ; 

The stars shone out so large and 
bright 

Upon the frosty fir-boughs white, 

That dreary night of cold Decent 
ber. 

I saw old Walter silent stand. 



THE SAILOR BOY. 



69 



Watching the soft, white flakes 

of snow 
With looks I could not under- 
stand, 
Of strange perplexity and woe. 
At last he turned and took my 

hand. 
And said the Countess just had 

sent 
To bid us come ; for she would 

fain 
See me once more, before she 

went 
Away — never to come again. 
We came in silence through the 

wood 
(Our footfall was the only sound) 
To where the great white castle 

stood. 
With darkness shadowing it 

around. 
Breathless, we trod with cautious 

care 
Up the great echoing marble 

stair ; 
Trembling, bv Walter \s hand I 

held. 
Scared by the splendors I be- 
held : 
Now thinking, " Should the Earl 

appear ! '^ 
Now looking up with giddy fear 
To the dim, vaulted roof that 

spread 
Its gloomy arches overhead. 
Long corridors we softly passed, 
(My h(*art was beating loud and 

fast,) 
And reached the Lady's room at 

last : 



A strange, faint odor seemed to 
weigh 

Upon the dim and darkened air ; 

One shaded lamp, with softened 
fay, 

Scarce showed the gloomy splen- 
dor there. 

The dull red brands were burib 
ing low, 

And yet a fitful gleam of light 

Would now and then, with sudv 
den glow. 

Start forth, then sink again in 
night. 

I gazed around, yet half in fear. 

Till Walter told me to draw 
near : 

And in the strange and flicker- 
ing light. 

Towards the Lady's bed I crept ; 

All folded round with snowy 
white. 

She lay ; (one would have said 
she slept ;) 

So still the look of that white face, 

It seemed as it were carved in 
stone, 

I paused before I dared to place 

Within her cold white hand my 
own. 

But, with a smile of sweet sur 
prise, 

She turned to me her dreamy 
eyes ; 

And slowly, as if life were pain, 

She drew me in her arms to lie: 

She strove to speak, and strove 
in vain ; 

Each breath was like a long- 
drawn sigh. 



70 



THE SAILOR BOY. 



The throbs that seemed to shake 

her breast, 
The trembling clasp, so loose 

and weak, 
At last grew calmer, and at rest ; 
And then she strove once more 

to speak : 
« My God, I thank thee, that my 

pain 
Of day by day, and year by year, 
Has not been suffered all in vain. 
And I may die while he is near. 
I will not fear but that Thy 

grace 
Has swept away my sin and woe, 
And sent this little angel face. 
In my last hour, to tell me so/' 
(And here her voice grew faint 

and low,) 
" My child, where'er thy life may 

go, 
To know that thou art brave and 

true. 
Will pierce the highest heavens 

through, 
And even there my soul shall be 
More joyful for this thought of 

thee/' 
She folded her white hands, and 

stayed ; 
All cold and silently she lay : 
I knelt beside the bed, and 

prayed 
The prayer she used to make 

me say. 
I said it many times, and then 
She did not move, but seemed 

to be 
In a deep sleep, nor stirred again. 
Ko sound woke in the silent room, 



Or broke the dim and soleun* 

gloom. 
Save when the brands that burnt 

so low. 
With noisy, fitful gleam of light. 
Would spread around a sudden 

glow. 
Then sink in silence and in 

night. 
How long I stood I do not know : 
At last poor Walter came, and 

said 
(So sadly) that we now must 

go, 

And whispered, she we loved 
was dead. 

He bade me kiss her face once 
more. 

Then led me sobbing to the door. 

I scarcely knew what dying 
meant. 

Yet a strange grief, before un- 
known. 

Weighed on my spirit as we 
went 

And left her lying all alone. 

We went to the far North once 

more. 
To seek the well - remembered 

home 
Where my poor kinsman dwelt 

before, 
Whence now he was too old to 

roam ; 
And there six happy years we 

past, 
Happy and peaceful till the last ; 
When poor old Walter died, and 

he 



THE LESSON OF TEE WAR. 



71 



Blessed me and said I now might 
be 

A sailor on the deep blue sea. 

And so I go ; and yet in spite 

Of all the joys I long to know, 

Though I look onward with de- 
light, 

With something of regret I go ; 

And young or old, on land or 
sea, 

One guiding memory I shall 
take, — 

Of what She prayed that I might 
be, 

And what I will be for her 
sake ! 



A CROWN OF SORROW. 

A SORROW, wet with early tears 
Yet bitter, had been long with 
me; 
I wearied of this weight of years, 
And would be free. 

I tore my Sorrow from my heart, 

I cast it far away in scorn ; 
Right joyful that we two could 
part, 

Yet most forlorn. 

I sought (to take my Sorrow's 
place) 
Over the world for flower or 
gem ; 
But she had had an ancient grace 
Unknown to them. 



I took once more with strange 
delight 
My slighted Sorrow ; proudly 
now 
I wear it, set with stars of light, 
Upon my brow. 



THE LESSON OF THE 
WAR. 

1855. 

The feast is spread through 
England 
For rich and poor to-day ; 
Greetings and laughter may be 
there, 
But thoughts are far away ; 
Over the stormy ocean. 

Over the dreary track, 
Where some are gone, whom 
England 
Will never welcome back. . 

Breathless she waits, and listens 

For every eastern breeze 
That bears upon its bloody wings 

News from beyond the seas. 
The leafless branches stirring 

Make naany a watclier start ; 
The distant tramp of steed may 
send 

A throb from heart to heart. 

The rulers of the nation, 
The poor ones at their ij^ate, 

With the same eager wonder 
The same ^reat news await. 

The poor man's stay and comfort, 
The rich man's joy and pride. 



72 



THE TWO SPIRITS, 



Upon the bleak Crimean shore 
Are fighting side by side. 

The bullet comes — and either 

A desolate hearth may see ; 
And God alone to-night knows 
where 

The vacant place may be ! 
The dread that stirs the peasant 

Thrills nobles' hearts with 
fear ; 
Yet above selfish sorrow 

Both hold their country dear. 

The rich man who reposes 

In his ancestral shade, 
The peasant at his ploughshare, 

The worker at his trade, 
Each one his all has perilled, 

Each has the same great stake, 
Each soul can but have patience. 

Each heart can only break ! 

Hushed is all party clamor ; 

One thought in every heart, 
One dread in every household. 

Has bid such strife depart. 
England has called her children ; 

Long silent — the word came 
That lit the smouldering ashes 

Through all the land to flame. 

O you who toil and suffer. 

You gladly heard the call ; 
But those you sometimes envy. 

Have they not given their all ? 
O you who rule the nation. 

Take now the toil-worn hand : 
Brothers you are in sorrow, 

In duty to your land. 



Learn but this noble lesson 
Ere Peace returns again, 

And the life-blood of Old Eng. 
land 
Will not be shed in vain. 



THE TWO SPIRITS. 
1855. 

Last night, when weary silence 

fell on all. 
And starless skies arose so dim 

and vast, 
I heard the Spirit of the Present 

call 
Upon the sleeping Spirit of 

the Past. 
Ear off* and near, I saw their 

radiance shine. 
And listened while they spoke 

of deeds divine. 

The Spirit of the Past. 
My deeds are writ in iron ; 

My glory stands alone ; 
A veil of shadowy honor 

Upon my tombs is thrown •, 
The great names of my heroes 

Like gems in lustory lie ; 
To live they deemed ignoble. 

Had they the chance to die ! 

The Spirit of the Present. 

My children, too, are honored ; 

Dear shall their memory be 

To the proud lands that own 

them ; 

Dearer than thine to thee 5 



THE TWO SPIRITS 



For. though they hold that sa- 
cred 

Is God's great gift of life, 
At the first call of duty 

They rash into the strife ! 

TH Spirt of the Past! 

Then, with all valiant precepts 

Woman's soft heart was 
fraught ; 
" Death, not dishonor," echoed 

The war-cry she had taught. 
Fearless and glad, those mothers. 

At bloody deaths elate. 
Cried out they bore their chil- 
dren 

Only for such a fate ! 

The Spirit of the Present. 

Though such stern laws of honor 

Are faded now away, 
Yet many a mourning mother. 

With nobler grief than they, 
Bows down in sad submission : 

The heroes of the fight 
Learnt at her knee the lesson, 

'' For God and for the Right! " 

The Spirit of the Past. 

No voice there spake of sorrow : 

They saw the noblest fall 
With no repining murmur ; 

Stern Fate was lord of all. 
And when the loved ones per- 
ished. 

One cry alone arose. 
Waking the startled echoes, 

<< Vengeance upon our foes ! " 



The Spirit of the Present. 

Grief dwells in France and Eng- 
land 

For many a noble son ; 
Yet louder than the sorrow, 

" Thy will, O God, be done ! " 
From desolate homes is rising 

One prayer, — " Let carnage 
cease ! 
On friends and foes have mercy, 

O Lord, and give us peace ! " 

The Spirit of the Past. 

Then, every hearth was honored 

That sent its children forth. 
To spread their country's glory, 

And gain her south or north. 
Then, little recked they numbers, 

No band would ever fly, 
But stern and resolute they stood 

To conquer or to die. 

The Spirit of the Present. 

And now from France and Eng- 
land 

Their dearest and their best 
Go forth to succor freedom. 

To help the much oppressed; 
Now, let the far-off Future 

And Past bow down to-day. 
Before the few young hearts that 
hold 

Whole armaments at bay. 

The Spirit of the Past. 

Then, each one strove for honor, 
Each for a deathless name ; 



74 



A LITTLE LONGER. 



Love, home, rest, joy, were 
otfered 
As sacrifice to Fame. 
They longed that in far ages 
Their deeds might still be 
told. 
And distant times and nations 
Their names in honor hold. 

The Spirit of the Present. 

Though nursed by such old 
legends. 
Our heroes of to-day 
Go cheerfully to battle 

As children go to play ; 
They gaze with awe and won- 
der 
On your great names of pride, 
Unconscious that their own will 
shine 
In glory side by side ! 

Day dawned ; and as the Spirits 

passed away, 
Methought I saw, in the dim 

morning gray, 
The Past's bright diadem had 

paled before 
The starry crown the glorious 

Present wore. 



A LITLLE LONGER. 

A LITTLE longer yet — a little 

longer. 
Shall violets bloom for thee, and 

sweet birds sing ; 



And the lime-branches, where 
soft winds are blowing, 

Shall murmur the sweet promise 
of the Spring ! 

A little longer yet — a little 
longer. 

Thou shalt behold the quiet of 
the morn ; 

While tender grasses and awak- 
ening flowers 

Send up a golden mist to greet 
the dawn ! 

A little longer yet — a little 
longer, 

The tenderness of twilight shall 
be thine, 

The rosy clouds that float o'er 
dying daylight. 

Nor fade till trembling stars be- 
gin to shine. 

A little longer yet — a little 

longer. 
Shall starry night be beautiful 

for thee ; 
And the cold moon shall look 

through the blue silence, 
Flooding her silver path upon the 



A little longer yet — a little 

longer. 
Life shall be thine ; life with its 

power to will ; 
Life with its strength to bear, to 

love, to conquer, 
Bringing its thousand joys thy 

heart to fill. 



GRIEF. 



75 



A. little longer yet — a little 

lono:er, 
The voices thou hast loved shall 

charm thine ear ; 
And thy true heart, that now 

beats quick to hear them, 
A little longer yet shall hold them 

dear. 

A little longer yet — joy while 

thou mayest ; 
Love and rejoice ! for time has 

naught in store : 
And soon the darkness of the 

grave shall bid thee 
Love and rejoice and feel and 

know no more. 



A little longer still — Patience, 

Beloved : 
A little longer still, ere Heaven 

unroll 
The Glory, and the Brightness, 

and the Wonder, 
Eternal, and divine, that waits 

thy Soul ! 

A little longer ere Life irue, im- 
mortal, 

(Not this our shadowy Life, ) will 
be thine own ; 

And thou shalt stand where 
winged Archangels worship, 

And trembling bow before the 
Great White Throne. 

\. little longer still, and Heaven 

awaits thee, 
And fills thy spirit with a great 

delight ; 



Then our pale joys will seem a 

dream forgotten, 
Our Sun a darkness, and our 

Day a Night. 

A little longer, and thy Heart, 

Beloved, 
Shall beat forever with a Love 

divine ; 
And joy so pure, so mighty, so 

eternal. 
No creature knows and lives, will 

then be thine. 

A little longer yet — and angel 

voices 
Shall ring in heavenly chant 

upon thine ear ; 
Angels and Saints await thee, 

and God needs thee : 
Beloved, can we bid thee linger 

here ! 



GRIEF. 



An ancient enemy have I, 
And either he or I must die ; 
For he never leaveth me. 
Never gives my soul relief, 
Never lets my sorrow cease. 
Never gives my spirit peace, — 
For mine enemy is Grief ! 
Pale he is, and sad and stern ; 
And whene'er he cometh nigh. 
Blue and dim the torches burn. 
Pale and shrunk the roses turn ; 
While my heart that he has pierced 
Many a time with fiery lance, 
Beats and trembles at his glance : 



GRIEF, 



Clad in burning steel is he, 
All my strength he can defy ; 
For he never leaveth me — 
And one of us must die ! 

I have said, '' Let ancient sages 
Charm me from my thoughts of 

pain ! " 
So I read their deepest pages, 
And I strove to think — in vain ! 
Wisdom's cold, calm words I 

tried, 
But he was seated by my side ; — 
Learning I have won in vain ; 
She cannot rid me of my pain. 

When at last soft sleep comes 

o'er me, 
A cold hand is on my heart ; 
Stern sad eyes are there before 

me ; 
Not in dreams will he depart : 
And when the same dreary vision 
From my weary brain has fled, 
Daylight brings the living phan- 
tom. 
He is seated by my bed, 
Bending o'er me all the while, 
With his cruel, bitter smile. 
Ever with me, ever nigh ; — 
And either he or I, must die ! 

Then I said, long time ago, 
*' I will flee to other climes, 
I will leave mine ancient foe ! '' 
Though I wandered far and 

wide — 
Still he followed at my side. 

And I fled where the blue waters 
Bathe the sunny isles of Greece ; 



Where Thessalian mountains rise 
Up against the purple skies ; 
Where a haunting memory liv- 

eth 
In each wood and cave and rill ; 
But no dream of gods could help 

me, — 
He went with me still ! 

I have been where Nile's broad 

river 
Flows upon the burning sand ; 
Where the desert monster brood- 

eth, 
Where the Eastern palm-trees 

stand ; 
I have been where pathless forests 
Spread a black eternal shade ; 
Where the lurking panther hiding 
Glares from every tangled glade ; 
But in vain I wandered wide, 
He was always by my side ! 

Then I fled where snows eternal 
Cold and dreary ever lie ; 
Where the rosy lightnings gleam, 
Flashing through the northern 

sky; 
Where the red sun turns again 
Back upon his path of pain ; — 
But a shadowy form was witl\ 

me, — 
I had fled in vain ! 

I have thought, " If I can gaze 
Sternly on him he will fade. 
For I know that he is nothing 
But a dim ideal shade." 
As I gazed at him the more, 
He grew stronger than before I 



THE TRIUMPH OF TIME. 



77 



Then I said, " Mine arm is strong, 
I will make him turn and flee " ; 
I have struggled with him long — 
But that could never be ! 

Once I battled with him so 
That I thought I laid him low ; 
Then in trembhng joy I fled, 
While again and still again 
Murmuring to myself I said, 
'' Mine old enemy is dead ! ^' 
And I stood beneath the stars. 
When a chill came on my frame. 
And a fear I could not name. 
And a sense of quick despair, 
And, lo ! — mine enemy was 
there ! 

Listen, for my soul is weary. 
Weary of its endless woe ; 
I have called on one to aid me 
Mightier even than my foe. 
Strength and hope fail day by 

day; 
I shall cheat him of his prey ; 
Some day soon, I know not when. 
He will stab me through and 

through ; 
He has wounded me before, 
But my heart can bear no 

more; 
Pray t-hat hour may come to 

me. 
Only then shall.! be free; 
Death alone has strength to take 

me 
Where my foe can never be ; 
Death, and Death alone, has 

power 
To conquer mine old enemy \ 



THE TEIUMPH OF TIME. 

The tender, delicate Flow- 
ers, 
I saw them fanned by a warm 
western wind. 
Fed by soft summer show- 
ers, 
Shielded by care, and yet, (0 
Fate unkind !) 
Fade in a few short hours. 

The gentle and the gay, 

Rich in a glorious Future of 

bright deeds. 

Rejoicing in the day. 

Are met by Death, who sternly, 

sadly leads 

Them far away. 

And Hopes, perfumed and 
bright. 
So lately shining, wet with dew 
and tears, 
Trembling in morning light ; 
I saw them change to dark and 
anxious fears 
Before the night ! 

I wept that all must die 
** Yet Love,*' I cried, *' doth live, 
and conquer death — '* 
And time passed by, 
And breathed on Love, and 
killed it with his breath 
Ere Death was nigh. 

More bitter far than all 
It was to know that 4^0 ve could 
change and die ! — 



78 



A PARTING. 



Hush ! for the ages call, 
" The Love of God lives through 
eternity, 
And conquers all ! " 



A PARTING. 

Without one bitter feeling let 
us part, — 
And for the years in which 

your love has shed 
A radiance like a glory round 
my head, 
I thank you, yes, I thank you 
from my heart. 

I thank you for the cherished 
hope of years, 
A starry future, dim and yet 

divine. 
Winging its way from Heaven 
to be mine. 
Laden with joy, and ignorant of 
tears. 

I thank you, yes, I thank you 
even more 
That my heart learnt not with- 
out love to live, 
But gave and gave, and still 
had more to give. 
From an abundant and exhaust- 
less store. 

1 thank you, and no grief is in 
these tears ; 
I thank you, not in bitterness 
but truth, 



For the fair vision that adorned 
my youth 
And glorified so many happy 
years. 

Yet how much more I thank you 
that you tore 
At length the veil your hand 

had woven away. 
Which hid my idol was a thing 
of clay. 
And false the altar I had knell 
before. 

I thank you that you taught me 
the stern truth, 
(None other could have told 

and I believed,) 
That vain had been my life, 
and I deceived, 
And wasted all the purpose of 
my youth. 

I thank you that your hand 
dashed down the shrine, 
Wherein my idol worship I 

had paid; 
Else had I never known a soul 
was made 
To serve and worship only tho 
Divine. 

I thank you that the heart I cas/ 
away 
On such as you, though bro 
ken, bruised, and crushed, 
Now that its fiery throbbing i^ 
all hushed. 
Upon a worthier altar I can lay 



THE GOLDEN GATE^ 



79 



I thank you for the lesson that 
such love 
Is a perverting of God's royal 

right, 
That it is made but for the 
Infinite, 
And all too great to live except 
above. 

I thank you for a terrible awak- 

And if reproach seemed nidden 
in my pain, 



And sorrow seemed to cry on 
your disdain, 
Know that my blessing lay in 
your forsaking. 

Farewell forever now : in peace 
we part ; 
And should an idle vision of 

my tears 
Arise before your soul in aftej 
years, 
Kemember that I thank you fronv 
my heart ! 



THE GOLDEN GATE. 

Dim shadows gather thickly round, and up the misty stair they climb, 
The cloudy stair that upward leads to where the closed portals shine, 
Round which the kneeling spirits wait the opening of the Golden Gate. 

And some with eager longing go, still pressing forward, hand in hand, 
And some, with weary step and slow, look back where their Beloved 

stand : 
Yet up the misty stair they climb, led onward by the Angel Time. 

As unseen hands roll back the doors, the light that floods the very air 
Is but the shadow from within, of the great glory hidden there : 
And morn and eve, and soon and late, the shadows pass within the gate. 

As one by one they enter in, and the stern portals close once more. 
The halo seems to linger round those kneeling closest to the door : 
The joy that lightened from that place shines still upon the watcher's 
face. 

The faint low echo that we hear of far-off music seems to fill 

The silent air with love and fear, and the world's clamors all grow still. 

Until the portals close again, and leave us toiling on in pain. 

Complain not that the way is long : what road is weary that leads there? 
But let the Angel take thy hand, and lead thee up the misty stair, 
* -".d then with, beating heart await the opening of the Golden Gate. 



80 



THANKFULNESS. 



PHANTOMS. 

Back, ye Phantoms of the Past; 

In your dreary caves remain : 
What have I to do v^^ith memories 

Of a long-forgotten pain ? 

For my Present is all peaceful, 
And my Future nobly planned : 

Long ago Time's mighty billows 
Swept your footsteps from the 
sand. 

Back into your caves ; nor haunt 
me 

With your voices full of woe ; 
I have buried grief and sorrow 

In the depths of Long-ago. 

See the glorious clouds of morn- 
ing 
Eoll away, and clear and 
bright 
Shine the rays of cloudless day- 
light : — 
Wherefore will ye moan of 
night ? 

Never shall my heart be bur- 
dened 
With its ancient woe and 
fears ; 
I can drive them from my pres- 
ence, 
I can check these foolish 
tears. 

Back, ye Phantoms ; leave, 
leave me, 
To a new and happy lot ; 



Speak no more of things de- 
parted ; 
Leave me — for I know ye 
not. 

Can it be that 'mid my gladness 

I must ever hear you wail. 
Of the grief that wrung my 
spirit, 
And that made my cheek so 
pale? 

Joy is mine; but your sad 
voices 

Murmur ever in mine ear : 
Vain is all the Future's promise, 

While the dreary Past is here. 

Vain, O worse than vain, the 
Visions 
That my heart, my life, would 
fill. 
If the Past's relentless phantoms 
Call upon me still ! 



THANKFULNESS. 

My God, I thank Thee who hast 
made 

The Earth so bright ; 
So full of splendor and of joy, 

Beauty and light ; 
So many glorious thmgs are here, 

Noble and right ! 

I thank Thee, too, that Thou 
hast made 
Joy to abound; 



HOMESICKNESS. 



81 



So many gentle thoughts and 
deeds 

Circling us round, 
That in the darkest spot of Earth 

Some love is found. 

I thank Thee more that all our joy 

Is touched with pain ; 
That shadows fall on brightest 
hours ; 
That thorns remain ; 
So that Earth's bliss may be our 
guide, 
And not our chain. 

For Thou who knowest. Lord, 
how soon 
Our weak heart clings. 
Hast given us joys, tender and 
true, 
Yet all with wings. 
So that we see, gleaming on high, 
Diviner things ! 

I thank Thee, Lord, that Thou 
hast kept 
The best in store ; 
We have enough, yet not too 
much 
To long for more : 
A yearning for a deeper peace. 
Not known before. 

I thank Tliee, Lord, that here 
our souls, 
Though amply blest. 
Can never find, although they 
seek, 
A perfect rest, — 
Nor ever shall, until they lean 
On Jesus' breast ! 



HOME-SICKNESS. 

Where I am, the halls are 
gilded, 
Stored with pictures bright 
and rare; 
Strains of deep melodious music 
Float upon the perfumed 
air : — 
Nothing stirs the dreary silence 

Save the melancholy sea. 
Near the poor and humble cot- 
tage. 
Where I fain would be ! 



Where I am, the sun is shining, 
And the purple windows glow. 
Till their rich armorial shadows 
Stain the marble floor be- 
low : — 
Faded autumn leaves are trem- 
bling 
On the withered jasmine-tree. 
Creeping round the little case- 
ment. 
Where I fain would be ! 

Where I am, the days are passing 
O'er a pathway strewn with 
flowers ; 
Song and joy and starry pleasures 
Crown the happy, smiling 
hours : — 
Slowly, heavily, and sadly, 
Time with weary wings must 
flee. 
Marked by pain, and toil, and 
sorrow. 
Where I fain would be ! 



82 



WISHES. 



Where I am, the great and noble 

Tell me of renown and fame, 
And the red wine sparkles highest, 

To do honor to my name : — 
Far away a place is vacant. 

By a humble hearth, for me, 
Dying embers dimly show it. 

Where I "fain would be ! 

Where I am are glorious dream- 
ings. 
Science, genius, art divine ; 
And the great minds whom all 
honor 
Interchange their thoughts 
with mine : — 
A few simple hearts are waiting. 

Longing, wearyiDg, for me, 
¥ar away where tears are falling. 
Where I fain would be ! 

Where I am, all think me happy, 

For so well I play my part. 
None can guess, who smile 
around me. 

How far distant is my heart, — 
Far away, in a poor cottage. 

Listening to the dreary sea, 
Where the treasures of my life 
are. 

Where I fain would be ! 



WISHES. 

All the fluttering wishes 
Caged within thy heart 

Beat their wings against it, 
Longing to depart; 



Till they shake their prison 
With their wounded cry ; 

Open wide thy heart to-day, 
And let the captives fly. 

Let them first fly upward 

Through the starry air. 
Till you almost lose them. 

For their home is there; 
Then, with outspread pinions, 

Circling round and round, 
Wing their way wherever 

Want and woe are found. 

Where the weary stitcher 

Toils for daily bread ; 
Where the lonely watcher 

Watches by her dead ; 
Where, with thin, weak fingers, 

Toiling at the loom, 
Stand the little children. 

Blighted ere they bloom ; — 

Where, by darkness blinded, 

Groping for the light. 
With distorted conscience, 

Men do wrong for right ; 
Where, in the cold shadow, 

By smooth pleasure thrown, 
Human hearts by hundreds 

Harden into stone ; — 

Where on dusty highways, 

With faint heart and slow, 
Cursing the glad sunlight. 

Hungry outcasts go ; 
Where all mirth is silenced. 

And the hearth is chill, 
For one place is empty, 

And one voice is still. 



LIFE IN DEATH AND DEATH IN LIFE. 



83 



Some hearts will be lighter 

While your captives roam 
For their tender singing, 

Then recall them home ; 
When the sunny hours 

Into night depart, 
Softly they will nestle 

In a quiet heart. 



THE PEACE OF GOD. 

We ask for Peace, O Lord ! 

Thy children ask Thy Peace ; 
Not what the world calls rest. 

That toil and care should cease. 
That through bright sunny hours 

Calm Life should fleet away. 
And tranquil night should fade 

In smiling day ; — 
It is not for such Peace that we 
would prayo 

We ask for Peace, O Lord ! 

Yet not to stand secure, 
Girt round with iron Pride, 

Contented to endure : 
Crushing the gentle strings 
That human hearts should 
know, 
Untouched by others' joy 

Or others^ woe ; — 
Thou, O dear Lord, wilt never 
teach us so. 

We ask Thy Peace, O Lord ! 
Through storm, and fear, and 
strife, 
To light and guide us on. 

Through a long, struggling 
life: 



While no success or gain 

Shall cheer the desperate fight, 
Or nerve, what the world calls, 

Our wasted might : — 
Yet pressing through the dark- 
ness to the light. 

It is Thine own, O Lord, 
Who toil while others sleep ; 

Who sow with loving care 
What other hands shall reap 

They lean on Thee entranced, 
In calm and perfect rest : ' 

Give us that Peace, O Lord, 
Divine and blest. 

Thou keepest for those hearts 
who love Thee best. 



LIFE IN DEATH AND 
DEATH IN LIFE. 



If the dread day that calls thee 
hence 

Through a red mist of fear 
should loom, 

(Closing in deadliest night and 
gloom 
Long hours of aching, dumb sus- 
pense, ) 

And leave me to my lonely 
doom, — 

I think, beloved, I could see 
In thy dear eyes the loving 

light 
Glaze into vacancy and night, 



84 



LIFE IN DEATH AND DEATH IN LIFE, 



And still say, " God is good to 
me, 
And all that He decrees is 
right." 

That, watching thy slow strug- 
gling breath. 

And answering each imperfect 
sign, 

I still could pray thy prayer 
and mine. 
And tell thee, dear, though this 
was death. 

That God was love, and love 
divine. 

Could hold thee in my arms, 
and lay 
Upon my heart thy weary 

head, 
And meet thy last smile ere it 
fled; 
Then hear, as in a dream, one say, 
"Now all is over, — she is 
dead.^' 

Could smooth thy garments with 
fond care. 
And cross thy hands upon thy 

breast. 
And kiss thine eyelids down 
to rest. 
And yet say no word of despair, 
But, through my sobbing, " It 
is best.'* 

Could stifle down the gnawing 
pain. 
And say, " We still divide our 
life. 



She has the rest, and I the 

strife. 
And mine the loss, and hers the 

gain: 
My ill with bliss for her is 

rife." 

Then turn, and the old duties 
take — 
Alone now — yet with earnest 

will 
Gathering sweet, sacred traces 
still 
To help me on, and, for thy sake, 
My heart and life and soul to 
fill. 

I think I could check vain, weak 
tears, 
And toil, — although the 

world's great space 
Held nothing but one vacant 
place. 
And see the dark and weary 
years 
Lit only by a vanished grace. 

And sometimes, when the day 
was o'er. 
Call up the tender past 

again : 
Its painful joy, its happy pain, 
And live it over yet once more. 
And say, "But few more 
years remain." 

And then, when I had striven 
my best. 
And all around would smiling 
say, 



LIFE IN DEATH AND DEATH IN LIFE. 



" See how Time makes all 
grief decay," 
Would lie down thankfully to 
rest, 
And seek thee in eternal day. 



But if the day should ever 
rise — 
It could not and it cannot 

be — 
Yet, if the sun should ever see, 
Looking upon us from his skies, 
A day that took thy heart from 
me ; 

If loving thee still more and 
more. 
And still so willing to be blind, 
I should the bitter knowledge 
find. 
That Time had eaten out the core 
Of love, and left the empty 
rind ; 

If the poor lifeless words, at last, 
(The soul gone, that was once 

so sweet,) 
Should cease my eager heart 
to cheat. 
And crumble back into the past. 
And show the whole a vain 
deceit ; 

If I should see thee turn away. 
And know that prayer, and 

time, and pain. 
Could no more thy lost love 

regain, 



Than bid the hours of dying day 
Gleam in their mid-day noon 
again ; 

If I should loose thy hand, and 
know 
That henceforth we must 

dwell apart. 
Since I had seen thy love de- 
part. 
And only count the hours flow 
By the dull throbbing of my 
heart ; 

If I should gaze and gaze in vain 
Into thine eyes so deep and 

clear. 
And read the truth of all my 
fear 
Half mixed with pity for my 
pain. 
And sorrow for the vanished 
year; 

If, not to grieve thee overmuch, 
I strove to counterfeit disdain. 
And weave me a new life again, 
Which thy life could not mar, or 
touch. 
And so smile down my bitter 
pain ; — 

The ghost of my dead Past wouhi 
rise 
And mock me, and I could 

not dare 
Look to a future of despair, 
Or even to the eternal skies, 
For I should still be lonely 
there. 



86 



RECOLLECTIONS. 



All Truth, all Honor, then would 
seem 
Vain clouds, which the first 

wind blew by ; 
All Trust, a folly doomed to 
die; 
All Life, a useless, empty dream ; 
All Love — since thine had 
failed — a lie. 

But see, thy tender smile has cast 
My fear away : this thought of 

mine 
Is treason to my Love and 
thine ; 
For Love is Life, and Death at 
last 
Crowns it eternal and divine ! 



RECOLLECTIONS. 

As strangers, you and I are 
here ; 
We both as aliens stand 
Where once, in years gone by, I 
dwelt 
No stranger in the land. 
Then while you gaze on park 
and stream. 
Let me remain apart, 
And listen to the awakened 
sound 
Of voices in my heart. 

Here, where upon the velvet lawn 
The cedar spreads its shade. 

And by the flower-beds all around 
Bright roses bloom and fade, 



Shrill merry childish laughter 
rings, 

And baby voices sweet. 
And by me, on the path, I hear 

The tread of little feet. 

Down the dark avenue of limes, 

Whose perfume loads the air, 
Whose boughs are rustling over- 
head, 

(For the west- wind is there,) 
I hear the sound of earnest talk, 

Warnings and counsels wise. 
And the quick questioning that 
brought 

Such gentle, calm replies. 

Still the light bridge hangs o'er 
the lake. 
Where broad-leaved lilies lie, 
And the cool water shows again 
The cloud that moves on 
high ; — 
And one voice speaks, in tones 
I thought 
The past forever kept ; 
But now I know, deep in my 
heart 
Its echoes only slept. 

I hear, within the shady porch, 

Once more, the measured 
sound 
Of the old ballads that were read, 

While we sat listening round; 
The starry passion-flower still 

Up the green trellis climbs ; 
The tendrils waving seem to 
keep 

The cadence of the rhymes. 



ILLUSION. 



87 



I might have striven, and striven 
in vain, 

Such visions to recall. 
Well known and yet forgotten ; 
now 

I see, I hear, them all ! 
The Present pales before the Past, 

Who comes with angel wings ; 
As in a dream I stand, amidst 

Strange yet familiar things ! 

Enough ; so let us go, mine eyes 

Are blinded by their tears ; 
A voice speaks to my soul to-day 

Of long-forgotten years. 
And yet the vision in my heart, 

In a few hours more. 
Will fade into the silent past, 

Silently as before. 



ILLUSION. 

Where the golden corn is bend- 
ing, 
And the singing reapers pass, 
Where the chestnut woods are 
sending 
Leafy showers upon the grass, 

The blue river onward flowing 
Mingles with its noisy strife, 

The murmur of the flowers 
growing, 
And the hum of insect life. 

I from that rich plain was gazing 
Towards the snowy moun- 
tains high, 



Who their gleaming peaks were 
raising 
Up against the purple sky. 

And the glory of their shining, 
Bathed in clouds of rosy 
light. 
Set my weary spirit pining 
For a home so pure and 
bright ! 

So I left the plain, and weary. 
Fainting, yet with hope sus- 
tained, 
Toiled through pathways long 
and dreary 
Till the mountain-top was 



Lo ! the height that I had taken. 
As so shining from below. 

Was a desolate, forsaken 
Kegion of perpetual snow. 

I am faint, my feet are bleeding. 
All my feeble strength is worn, 

In the plain no soul is heeding, 
I am here alone, forlorn. 

Lights are shining, bells are toll- 
ing, 
In the busy vale below ; 
Near me night's black clouds 
are rolling, 
Gathering o'er a waste of 
snow. 

So I watch the river winding 
Through the misty fading 
plain, 



88 



A VISION, 



Bitter are the tear-drops blind- 
ing, 
Bitter, useless toil and pain, — 
Bitterest of all the finding 
That my dream was false and 
vain! 



A VISION. 

Gloomy and black are the cy- 
press-trees, 
Drearily waileth the chill night 

breeze. 
The long grass waveth, the tombs 

are white, 
And the black clouds flit o'er the 

chill moonlight. 
Silent is all save the dropping 

rain, 
When slowly there cometh a 

mourning train ; 
The lone churchyard is dark and 

dim. 
And the mourners raise a funeral 

hymn. 

'* Open, dark grave, and take 
her ; 
Though we have loved her so. 
Yet we must now forsake her. 
Love will no more awake her : 

(0 bitter woe !) 
Open thine arms and take her 
To rest below ! 

** Vain is our mournful weeping. 

Her iientle life is o'er ; 
Only the worm is creeping, 



Where she will soon be sleeping 

Forevermore : 
Nor joy nor love is keeping 

For her in store ! " 



Gloomy and black are the cy- 
press-trees, 

And drearily wave in the chill 
night breeze. 

The dark clouds part and the 
heavens are blue, 

Where the trembling stars are 
shining through. 



Slowly across the gleaming sky, 

A crowd of white angels are pass- 
ing by. 

Like a fleet of swans they float 
along, 

Or the silver notes of a dying 
song. 

Like a cloud of incense their 
pinions rise, 

Fading away up the purple skies. 

But hush ! for the silent glory is 
stirred 

By a strain such as earth has 
never heard : 



" Open, Heaven ! we bear 
her, 
This gentle maiden mild, 
Earth's griefs we gladly spare 

her. 
From earthly joys we tear her. 

Still undefiled ; 
And to thine arms we bear her, 
Thine own, thy child. 



PICTURES IN THE FIRE. 



89 



" Open, O Heaven ! no morrow 

Will see this joy overcast, 
No pain, no tears, no sorrow, 
Her gentle heart will borrow ; 

Sad life is past ; 
Shielded and safe from sorrow, 
At home at last/' 

But the vision faded and all was 
still. 

On the purple valley and distant 
hill. 

No sound was there save the wail- 
ing breeze. 

The rain, and the rustling cy- 
press-trees. 



PICTURES IN THE FIRE. 

What is it you ask me, darling ? 

All my stories, child, you 

know ; 

I have no strange dreams to tell 

you, 

Pictures I have none to show. 

Tell you glorious scenes of travel ? 

Nay, my child, that cannot be, 
I have seen no foreign countries, 

Marvels none on land or sea. 

Yet strange sights in truth I 
witness. 
And I gaze until I tire ; 
Wondrous pictures, changing 
ever. 
As I look into the fire. 



There, last night, I saw a cavern, 
Black as pitch ; within it lay, 

Coiled in many folds, a dragon, 
Glaring as if turned at bay. 

And a knight in dismal armor 
On a winged eagle came, 

To do battle with this dragon : 
And his crest was all of flame. 

As I gazed the dragon faded. 
And, instead, sat Pluto 
crowned * 

By a lake of burning fire ; 

Spirits dark were crouching 
round. 

That was gone, and lo! before 
me, 

A cathedral vast and grim ; 
I could almost hear the organ 

Peal along the arches dim. 

As I watched the wreathed pil- 
lars, 

Groves of stately palms arose, 
And a group of swarthy Indians 

Stealing on some sleeping foes. 

Stay : a cataract glancing bright- 

ly 

Dashed and sparkled ; and be 

side 
Lay a broken marble monster, 
Mouth and eyes were staring 

wide. 

Then I saw a maiden wreathing 
Starry flowers in garlands 
sweet ' 



00 



THE SETTLERS, 



Did she ^ee the fiery serpent 
That was wrapped about her 
feet? 

That fell cra&i'iing all and van- 
ished ; 

And I saw two armies close, — 
I could almost hear the clarions, 

And the shouting of the foes. 
They were gone ; and lo ! bright 
angels, 

On a barren mountain wild, 
Raised appealing arms to Heaven, 

Bearing up a little child. 

And I gazed, and gazed, and 
slowly 
Gathered in my eyes sad tears. 
And the fiery pictures bore me 
Back through distant dreams 
of years. 

Once again I tasted sorrow. 
With past joy was once more 
gay. 
Till the shade had gathered 
round me — 
And the fire had died away. 



THE SETTLERS. 

Two stranger youths in the Far 
West, 
Beneath the ancient forest 
trees. 
Pausing, amid their toil to rest. 
Spake of their home beyond 
the seas ; 



Spake of the hearts that beat so 
warmly, 
Of the hearts they loved so 
well, 
In their chilly Northern country. 
" Would," they cried, '< some 
voice could tell 
Where they are, our own beloved 
ones ! '' 
They looked up to the evening 
sky 
Half hidden by the giant branch- 
es. 
But heard no angel-voice re- 
ply- 
All silent was the quiet evening ; 
Silent were the ancient trees ; 
They only heard the murmuring 
song 
Of the summer breeze. 
That gently played among 
The acacia-trees. 

And did no warning spirit an- 
swer, 

Amid the silence all around : 
" Before the lowly village altar 

She thou lovest may be found. 
Thou, who trustest still so blind- 

iy> 

Know she stands a smiling 
bride ! 
Forgetting thee, she turneth 
kindly 
To the stranger at her side. 
Yes, this day thou art forgotten, 
Forgotten, too, thy last fare- 
well. 
All the vows that she has spoken, 
And chy heari hits kept so well. 



HUSH! 



91 



Dream no more of a starry fu- 
ture, 
In thy home beyond the seas ! '' 
But he only heard the gentle sigh 
Of the summer breeze, 
So softly passing by 
The acacia-trees. 

And vainly, too, the other, looking 
Smiling up through hopeful 
tears, 
Asked in his heart of hearts, 
" Where is she, 
She I love these many years ? " 
He heard no echo calling faintly : 
"Lo, she lieth cold and pale, 
And her smile so calm and saintly 
Heeds not grieving sob or 
wail, — 
Heeds not the lilies strewn upon 
her. 
Pure as she is, and as white, 
Or the solemn chanting voices. 
Or the taper's ghastly light." 
But silent still was the ancient 
forest, 
Silent were the gloomy trees ; 
He only heard the wailing sound 

Of the summer breeze, 
^ That sadly played around 
The acacia-trees ! 



HUSH! 



" I CAN scarcely hear," she mur- 
mured, 
" For my heart beats loud and 
fast, 



But surely, in the far, far dis- 
tance, 
I can hear a sound at last." 
" It is only the reapers sing- 
ing, 
As they carry home their 
sheaves ; 
And the evening breeze has 
risen, 
And rustles the dying 
leaves." 



" Listen ! there are voices talk- 
ing." 
Calmly still she strove to 
speak, 
Yet her voice grew faint and 
trembling, 
And the red flushed in her 
cheek. 
"It is only the children 
playing 
Below, now their work is 
done. 
And they laugh that their 
eyes are dazzled 
By the rays of the setting 
sun." 



Fainter grew her voice, and 
weaker. 
As with anxious eyes she cried, 
" Down the avenue of chestnuts, 
I can hear a horseman ride." 
•*Itwas only the deer that 
were feeding 
In a herd on the clovei, 
grassi, 



92 



HOURS. 



They were startled, and fled 
to the thicket, 
As they saw the reapers 



Now the night arose in silence. 
Birds lay in their leafy nest, 
And the deer couched in the 
forest. 
And the children were at rest : 
There was only a sound of 
weeping 
From watchers around a 
bed, 
But Eest to the weary spirit. 
Peace to the quiet Dead ! 



HOURS. 



When the bright stars came out 
last night. 
And the dew lay on the flow- 
ers, 
I had a vision of delight, — 
A dream of bygone hours. 

Those hours that came and fled 
so fast, 
Of pleasure or of pain. 
As phantoms rose from out the 
past 
Before my eyes again. 

With beating heart did I behold 
A train of joyous hours, 

Lit with the radiant light of old. 
And, smiling, crowned with 
flowers. 



And some were hours of chiMish 
sorrow, 
A mimicry of pain, 
That through their tears looked 
for a morrow 
They knew must smile again. 

Those hours of hope that longed 
for life. 
And wished their part begun, 
And ere the summons to the 
strife 
Dreamed that the field wa§ 
won. 

I knew the echo of their voice, ' 
The starry crowns they wore ; 

The vision made my soui rejoice 
With the old thrill of yore. 

I knew the perfume of their 
flowers ; 
The glorious shining rays 
Around these happy, smiling 
hours 
Were lit in bygone days. 

stay, I cried, — bright visions, 

stay. 

And leave me not forlorn ! 

But, smiling still, they passed 

away. 

Like shadows of the morn. 

One spirit still remained, and 
cried, 
<< Thy soul shall ne'er for- 
get ! " 
He standeth ever by my side, — 
The phantom called Regret \ 



THE TWO INTERPRETERS. 



93 



But still the spirits rose, and 
there 
Were weary hours of pain, 
And anxious hours of fear and 
care 
Bound by an iron chain. 

Dim shadows came of lonely 
hours, 
That shunned the light of day. 
And in the opening* smile of 
flowers 
Saw only quick decay. 

Calm hours that sought the 
starry skies 
For heavenly lore were there; 
With folded hands and earnest 
eyes, 
I knew the hours of prayer. 

Stern hours that darkened the 
sun^s light. 
Heralds of coming woes. 
With trailing wings, before my 
sight 
From the dim past arose. 

As each dark vision passed and 
spoke, 

I prayed it to depart : 
At each some buried sorrow woke 

And stirred within my heart. 

Ontil these hours of pain and 
care 
Lifted their tearful eyes. 
Spread their dark pinions in the 
air, 
And passed into the skies. 



THE TWO INTERPRET- 
ERS. 

The clouds are fleeting by, fa- 
ther ; 
Look, in the shining west, 
The great white clouds sail on- 
ward 
Upon the sky's blue breast. 
Look at a snowy eagle, 

His wings are tinged with red, 
And a giant dolphin follows 
him. 
With a crown upon his head ! " 

The father spake no word, but 
watched 
The drifting clouds roll by; 
He traced a misty vision too 

Upon the shining sky : 
A shadowy form, with well- 
known grace 
Of weary love and care. 
Above the smiling child she 
held, 
Shook down her floating hair. 

'* The clouds are changing now, 
father, 
Mountains rise higher and 
higher ! 
And see where red and purple 
ships 
Sail in a sea of fire ! '^ 
The father pressed the little hand 

More closely in his own. 
And watched a cloud-dream in 
the sky 
That he could see alone : 



94 



COMFORT, 



Bright angels carrying far away 

A white form, cold and dead, 

Two held the feet, and two bore 

up 

The flower-crowned, drooping 

head. 

'^See, father, see! a glory floods 

The sky, and all is bright. 
And clouds of every hue and 
shade 

Burn in the golden light. 
And now, above an azure lake, 

Rise battlements and towers. 
Where knights and ladies climb 
the heights, 

All bearing purple flowers." 

The father looked, and, with a 
pang 
Of love and strange alarm. 
Drew close the little eager child 

Within his sheltering arm ; 
From out the clouds the mother 
looks 
With wistful glance below. 
She seems to seek the treasure 
left 
On earth so long ago ; 
She holds her arms out to her 
child, 
His cradle-song she sings : 
The last rays of the sunset gleam 
Upon her outspread wings. 

Calm twilight veils the summer 
sky. 

The shining clouds are gone ; 
In vain the merry laughing child 

Still gayly prattles on; 



In vain the bright stars, one by 
one, _- 

On the blue silence start, 
A dreary shadow rests to-night 

Upon the father's heart. 



COMFOKT. 

Hast thou o'er the clear heaven 
of thy soul 
Seen tempests roll? 
Hast thou watched all the hopes 
thou wouldst have won 
Fade, one by one '? 
Wait till the clouds are past, 
then raise thine eyes 
To bluer skies. 

Hast thou gone sadly through a 
dreary night. 
And found no light, 
No guide, no star, to cheer thee 
through the plain. 
No friend, save pain ? 
Wait, and thy soul shall see, 
when most forlorn, 
Rise a new morn. 

Hast thou beneath another's stern 
control 
Bent thy sad soul. 
And wasted sacred hopes and 
precious tears'? 
Yet calm thy fears. 
For thou canst gain, even from 
the bitterest part, 
A stronger heart. 



HOME AT LAST. 



95 



Has Fate overwhelmed thee with 
some sudden blow ? 
Let thy tears flow ; 
But know when storms are past, 
the heavens appear 
More pure, more clear ; 
And hope, when farthest from 
their shining rays, 
For brighter days. 

Hast thou found life a cheat, and 
worn in vain 
Its iron chain ? 
Has thy soul bent beneath earth's 
heavy bond ? 
Look thou beyond ; 
If life is bitter — there forever 
shine 
Hopes more divine. 

Art thou alone, and does thy 
soul complain 
It lives in vain? 
Not vainly does he live who can 
endure. 
O be thou sure, 
That he who hopes and suffers 
here, can earn 
A sure return. 

Hast thou found naught within 
thy troubled life 
Save inward strife ? 
Hast thou found all she promised 
thee, Deceit, 
And Hope a cheat ? 
Endure, and there shall dawn 
within thy breast 
Eternal rest ! 



HOME AT LAST. 

Child, do not fear ; 
We shall reach our home to- 
night. 
For the sky is clear. 
And the waters bright ; 
And the breezes have scarcely 
strength 
To unfold that little cloud, 
That like a shroud 
Spreads out its fleecy length ; 

Then have no fear. 
As we cleave our silver way 
Through the waters clear. 

Fear not, my child ! 
Though the waves are white and 
high. 
And the storm blows wild 
Through the gloomy sky ; 
On the edge of the western sea, 
See that line of golden light, 
Is the haven bright 
Where home is awaiting thee ; 

Where, this peril past. 
We shall rest from our stormy 
voyage 
In peace at last. 

Be not afraid •, 
But give me thy hand, and see 
How the waves have made 
A cradle for thee. 
Night is come, dear, and we shall 
rest j^ 
So turn from the an^zry skies, 
And close thine eyes, 
And lay thy head on my breast ; 



96 



UNEXPRESSED. 



Child, do not weep ; 
In the calm, cold, purple depths 
There we shall sleep. 



UNEXPRESSED. 

Dwells within the soul of every 
Artist 

More than all his effort can ex- 
press ; 

And he knows the best remains 
unuttered ; 

Sighing at what we call his suc- 
cess. 

Vainly he may strive ; he dare 
not tell us 

All the sacred mysteries of the 
skies ; 

Vainly he may strive, the deep- 
est beauty 

Cannot be unveiled to mortal 
eyes. 

And the more devoutly that he 
listens, 

And the holier message that is 
sent, 

Still the more his soul must 
struggle vainly. 

Bowed beneath a noble discon- 
tent. 

No great Thinker ever lived and 
taught you 

All the wonder that his soul re- 
ceived ; 



No true Painter ever set on 

canvas 
All the glorious vision he con. 

ceived. 

No Musician ever held your 
spirit 

Charmed and bound in his me- 
lodious chains. 

But be sure he heard, and strove 
to render, 

Feeble echoes of celestial strains.; 

No real Poet ever wove in num- 
bers 

All his dream ; but the diviner 
part. 

Hidden from all the world, spake 
to him only 

In the voiceless silence of his 
heart. 

So with Love : for Love and Are 

united 
Are twin mysteries ; different, yet 

the same : 
Poor indeed would be the love 

of any 
Who could find its full and per 

feet name. 

Love may strive, but vain is the 
endeavor 

All its boundless riches to un- 
fold ; 

Still its tenderest, truest secret 
lingers 

Ever in its deepest depths un- 
told. 



REST AT EVENING. 



97 



Things of Time have voices : 
speak aad perish. 

Art and Love speak ; but their 
words must be 

Like sighings of inimitable for- 
ests, 

And waves of an unfathomable 
sea. 



BECAUSE. 

It is not because your heart is 
mine — mine only — 
Mine alone ; 
It is not because you chose me, 
weak and lonely. 
For your own ; 
Not because the earth is fairer, 
and the skies 
Spread above you 
Are more radiant for the shining 
of your eyes — 
That I love you ! 

It is not because the world's per- 
plexed meaning 
Grows more clear ; 
And the Parapets of Heaven, 
with angels leaning, 
Seem more near; 
And Nature sings of praise with 
all her voices 
Since yours spoke. 
Since within my silent heart, 
that now rejoices, 
Love awoke ! 

Nay, not even because your hand 
holds heart and life ; 
At your will 



Soothing, hushing all its discord, 
making strife 
Calm and still ; 
Teaching Trust to fold her wings, 
nor ever roam 
From her nest ; 
Teaching Love that her securest, 
safest home 
Must be Kest. 

But because this human Love, 
though true and sweet -^ 
Yours and mine — 
Has been sent by Love more ten- 
der, more complete, 
More divine ; 
That it leads our hearts to rest 
at last in Heaven, 
Far above you ; 
Do I take you as a gift that God 
has given — 
— And I love you ! 



REST AT EVENING. 

When the weariness of Life is 
ended. 

And the task of our long day is 
done. 

And the props, on which our 
hearts depended, 

All have failed or broken, one 
by one ; 

Evening and our Sorrow's shad- 
ow blended. 

Telling us that peace is now be- 
gun. 



A RETROSPECT. 



How far ba?ck will seem the sun's 

first dawning, 
And those early mists so cold and 

gray! 
Half forgotten even the toil of 

morning, 
And the heat and burden of the 

day : 
Flowers that we were tending, 

and weeds scerning, 
All alike withered and cast away. 



Vain will seem the impatient 
heart, which waited 

Toils that gathered but too quick- 
ly round ; 

And the childish joy, so soon 
elated 

At the path we thought none else 
had found ; 

And the foolish ardor, soon 
abated 

By the storm which cast us to 
the ground. 



Vain those pauses on the road, 
each seeming 

As our final home and resting- 
place ; 

And the leaving them, while 
tears were streaming 

Of eternal sorrow down our 
face; 

And the hands we held, fond 
folly dreaming 

That no future could their touch 
efface. 



All will then be faded : — night 
will borrow 

Stars of light to crown our per- 
fect rest ; 

And the dim vague memory of 
faint sorrow 

Just remain to show us all was 
best. 

Then melt into a divine to-mor- 
row : — 

O how poor a day to be so blest ! 



A RETROSPECT. 

From this fair point of present 
bliss. 
Where we together stand. 
Let me look back once more, 
and trace 
That long and desert land. 
Wherein till now was cast my lot, 
and I could live, and thou 
wert not. 

Strange that my heart could beat, 
and know 
Alternate joy and pain. 
That suns could roll from east 
to west. 
And clouds could pass in rain, 
And the slow hours without thee 
fleet, nor stay their noiseless 
silver feet. 

What had I then ? a Hope, that 
grew 
Each hour more bright and 
dear, 



TRUE OR FALSE. 



99 



The flush upon the eastern skies 
That showed the sun was 

near : — 
Now night has faded far away, 

my sun has risen, and it is 

day. 

A dim Ideal of tender grace 

In my soul reigned supreme ; 
Too noble and too sweet I 
thought 
To live, save in a dream ; — 
Within thy heart to-day it lies, 
and looks on me from thy 
dear eyes. 

Some gentle spirit — Love I 
thought — 
Built many a shrine of pain ; 
Though each false Idol fell to 
dust. 
The worship was not vain, 
But a faint, radiant shadow cast 
back from our Love upon 
the Past. 

And Grief, too, held her vigil 
there ; 
With unrelenting sway 
Breaking my cloudy visions 
down. 
Throwing my flowers away : — 
I owe to her fond care alone 
that I may now be all thine 
own. 

Fair Joy was there, — her flut- 
tering wings 
At times she strove to raise ; 



Watching through long and pa- 
tient nights, 
Listening long eager days : 

I know now that her heart and 
mine were waiting, Love, to 
welcome thine. 

Thus I can read thy name 
throughout, 
And, now her task is done. 
Can see that even that faded Past 

Was thine, beloved one, 
And so rejoice my Life may be all 
consecrated, dear, to thee. 



TRUE OR FALSE. 

So you think you love me, do 
you? 
Well, it may be so ; 
But there are many ways of lov- 
ing 
I have learnt to know. 
Many ways, and but one true 
way, 
Which is very rare ; 
And the counterfeits look bright- 
est. 
Though they will not wear. 

Yet they ring, almost, quite 
truly. 
Last (with care) for long ; 
But in time must break, may 
shiver 
At a touch of wrong ; 



100 



TRUE OR FALSE. 



Having seen what looked most 
real 

Crumble into dust ; 
Now I chose that test and trial 

Should precede my trust. 

I have seen a love demanding 

Time and hope and tears, 
Chaining all the past, exacting 

Bonds from future years ; 
Mind and heart, and joy and 
sorrow, 

Claiming as its fee : 
That was Love of Self, and 
never, 

Never Love of me ! 



I have seen a love forgetting 

All above, beyond. 
Linking every dream and fancy 

In a sweeter bond ; 
Counting every hour worthless. 

Which was cold or free : — 
That, perhaps, was — Love of 
Pleasure, 

But not Love of me ! 



I have seen a love whose pa- 
tience 
Never turned aside. 
Full of tender, fond devices ; 

Constant, even when tried ; 
Smallest boons were held as vic- 
tories, 
Drops that swelled the sea : 
That I think was — Love of 
Power, 
But not Love of me I 



I have seen a love disdaining 
Ease and pride and fame. 
Burning even its own white pin- 
ions 
Just to feed its flame ; 
Reigning thus, supreme, trium- 
phant. 
By the souFs decree ; 
That was — Love of Love, I 
fancy. 
But not Love of me ! 

I have heard — or dreamt, it 
may be — 

What Love is when true ; 
How^ to test and how to try it, 

Is the gift of few : 
These few say (or did I dream 
it?) 

That true Love abides 
In these very things, but always 

Has a soul besides. 

Lives among the false loves, 
knowing 

Just their peace and strife ; 
Bears the self-same look, but al- 
ways 

Has an inner life. 
Only a true heart can find it. 

True as it is true, 
Only eyes as clear and tender 

Look it through and through. 

If it dies, it will not perish 
By Time's slow decay. 

True Love only grows (they tell 
me) 
Stronger, day by day ; 



GOLDEN WORDS. 



101 



Pain — has beea i/-s friend and 
comrade ; 

Fate — it can defy ; 
Only by its own sword, sometimes 

Love can choose to die. 

And its grave shall be more 
noble 

And more sacred still, 
Than a throne, where one less 
worthy 

Reigns and rules at will. 
Tell me then, do you dare offer 

This true Love to me ? . . . 
Neither you nor I can answer ; 

We will — wait and see ! 



GOLDEN WORDS. 

Some words are played on 
golden strings. 

Which I so highly rate, 
I cannot bear for meaner things 

Their sound to desecrate. 

For every day they are not meet, 
Or for a careless tone ; 

They are for rarest, and most 
sweet. 
And noblest use alone. 

One word is Poet : which is 
flung 
So carelessly away. 
When such as you and I have 
sung, 
We hear it, day by day. 



Men pay it for a tender phrase 
Set in a cadenced rhyme : 

I keep it as a crown of praise 
To crown the kings of time. 

And Love : the slightest feel^ 
ings, stirred 

By trivial fancy, seek 
Expression in that golden word 

They tarnish while they speak. 

Nay, let the heart's slow, rare 
decree. 

That word in reverence keep ; 
Silence herself should only be 

More sacred and more deep. 

Forever : men have grown at 
length 

To use that word, to raise 
Some feeble protest into strength. 

Or turn some tender phrase. 

It should be said in awe and fear 
By true heart and strong will, 

And burn more brightly year by 
year, 
A starry witness still. 

Honor : all trifling hearts are 
fond 
Of that divine appeal, 
And men, upon the slightest 
bond. 
Set it as slighter seal. 

That word should meet a noble foe 

Upon a noble field. 
And echo — like a deadly blow 

Turned by a silver shieljl. 



102 



GOLDEN WORDS. 



Trust me, the worth of words is 
such 
They guard all noble things, 
And that this rash irreverent 
touch 
Has jarred some golden 
strings. 

For what the lips have lightly 

said 

The heart will lightly hold. 

And things on which we daily 

tread 

Are lightly bought and sold. 

The sun of every day will bleach 
The costliest purple hue, 



And so our common daily 
speech 
Discolors what was true. 



But as you keep some thoughts 
apart 

In sacred honored care. 
If in the silence of your heart, 

Their utterance too be rare ; 



Then, while a thousand words 
repeat 

Unmeaning clamors all. 
Melodious golden echoes sweet 

Shall answer when you call. 



LEGENDS AND LYRICS. 

A BOOK OF VERSES. 



SECOND SERIES. 



LEGENDS AND LYRICS. 



A LEGEND OF PROVENCE. 

The lights extinguished, by the hearth I leant, 
Half weary with a listless discontent. 
The flickering giant-shadows, gathering near, 
Closed round me with a dim and silent fear. 
All dull, all dark ; save when the leaping flame, 
Glancing, lit up a Picture^s ancient frame. 
Above the hearth it hung. Perhaps the night, 
My fooHsh tremors, or the gleaming light, 
Lent power to that Portrait dark and quaint, — 
A Portrait such as Eembrandt loved to paint, — 
The likeness of a Nun. I seemed to trace 
A world of sorrow in the patient face. 
In the thin hands folded across her breast : — 
Its own and the room's shadow hid the rest. 
I gazed and dreamed, and the dull embers stirred, 
Till an old legend that I once had heard 
Came back to me ; linked to the mystic gloom 
Of that dark Picture in the ghostly room 

In the far south, where clustering vines are hung; 
Where first the old chivalric lays were sung ; 
Where earliest smiled that gracious child of Erancft, 
Angel and knight and fairy, called Romance, 
I stood one day. The warm blue June was spread 
Upon the earth ; blue summer overhead, 
Without a cloud to fleck its radiant glare, 
Without a breath to stir its sultry air. 
All still, all silent, save the sobbing rush 
Of rippling waves, that lapsed in silver hush 



106 A LEGEND OF PROVENCE, 

Upon the beach ; where, glittering towards the strand. 
The purple Mediterranean kissed the land. 

All still, all peaceful ; when a convent chime 

Broke on the mid-day silence for a time, 

Then trembling into quiet, seemed to cease. 

In deeper silence and more utter peace. 

So as I turned to gaze, where gleaming white, 

Half hid by shadowy trees from passers' sight, 

The Convent lay, one who had dwelt for long 

In that fair home of ancient tale and song, 

Who knew the story of each cave and hill. 

And every haunting fancy lingering still 

Within the land, spake thus to me, and told 

The Convent's treasured Legend, quaint and old : — 

Long years ago, a dense and flowering wood. 
Still more concealed where the white convent stood. 
Borne on its perfumed wings the title came : 
" Our Lady of the Hawthorns " is its name. 
Then did that bell, which still rings out to-day, 
Bid all the country rise, or eat, or pray. 
Before that convent shrine, the haughty knight 
Passed the lone vigil of his perilous fight ; 
For humbler cottage strife or village brawl. 
The Abbess listened, prayed, and settled all. 
Young hearts that came, weighed down by love or wrong, 
Left her kind presence comforted and strong. 
Each passing pilgrim, and each beggar's right 
Was food, and rest, and shelter for the night. 
But, more than this, the Nuns could well impart 
The deepest mysteries of the healing art ; 
Their store of herbs and simples was renowned. 
And held in wondering faith for miles around. 
Thus strife, love, sorrow, good and evil fate, 
Eound help and blessing at the convent gate. 

Of all the nuns, no heart was half so light. 
No eyelids veiling glances half as bright. 
No step that glided with such noiseless feet, 
No face that looked so tender or so sweet. 



A LEGEND OF PROVENCE, 107 

No voice that rose in choir so pure, so clear, 

No heart to all the others half so dear, 

So surely touched by others' pain or woe, 

(Guessing the grief her young life could not know,) 

No soul in childlike faith so undefiled, 

As Sister Angela's, the " Convent Child." 

For thus they loved to call her. She had known 

No home, no love, no kindred, save their own. 

An orphan, to their tender nursing given. 

Child, plaything, pupil, now the Bride of Heaven. 

And she it was who trimmed the lamp's red light 

That swung before the altar, day and night ; 

Her hands it was whose patient skill could trace 

The finest broidery, weave the costliest lace ; 

But most of all, her first and dearest care, 

The ofiice she would never miss or share, 

Was every day to weave fresh garlands sweet, 

To place before the shrine at Mary's feet. 

Nature is bounteous in that region fair, 

For even winter has her blossoms there. 

Thus Angela loved to count each feast the best. 

By telling with what flowers the shrine was dressed. 

In pomp supreme the countless Roses passed, 

Battalion on battalion thronging fast, 

Each with a different banner, flaming bright. 

Damask, or striped, or crimson, pink, or white. 

Until they bowed before a newborn queen, 

And the pure virgin Lily rose serene. 

Though Angela always thought the Mother blest 

Must love the time of her own hawthorn best. 

Each evening through the year, with equal care. 

She placed her flowers ; then kneeling down in prayer, 

As their faint perfume rose before the shrine. 

So rose her thoughts, as pure and as divine. 

She knelt until the shades grew dim without. 

Till one by one the altar lights shone out. 

Till one by one the Nuns, like shadows dim. 

Gathered around to chant their vesper hymn ; 

Her voice then led the music's winged flight, 

And " Ave, Maris Stella " filled the night. 



108 ^ LEGEND OF PROVENCE, 

But wherefore linger on those days of peace ? 
When storms draw near, then quiet hours must cease. 
War, cruel war, defaced the land, and came 
So near the convent with its breath of flame, 
That, seeking shelter, frightened peasants fled, 
Sobbing out tales of coming fear and dread. 
Till after a fierce skirmish, down the road, 
One night came straggling soldiers, with their load 
Of wounded, dying comrades ; and the band, 
Half pleading, yet as if they could command, 
Summoned the trembling Sisters, craved their care, 
Then rode away, and left the wounded there. 
But soon compassion bade all fear depart, 
And bidding every Sister do her part, 
Some prepare simples, healing salves, or bands, 
The Abbess chose the more experienced hands. 
To dress the wounds needing most skilful care ; 
Yet even the youngest Novice took her share. 
To Angela, who had but ready will 
And tender pity, yet no special skill, 
Was given the charge of a young foreign knight, 
Whose wounds were painful, but whose danger slight. 
Day after day she watched beside his bed, 
And first in hushed repose the hours fled : 
His feverish moans alone the silence stirred. 
Or her soft voice, uttering some pious w^ord. 
At last the fever left him ; day by day 
The hours, no longer silent, passed away. 
What could she speak of? First, to still his plaints, 
She told him legends of the martyred Saints ; 
Described the pangs, which, through God's plenteous grace, 
Had gained their souls so high and bright a place. 
This pious artifice soon found success — 
Or so she fancied — for he murmured less. 
So she described the glorious pomp sublime. 
In which the chapel shone at Easter time, 
The Banners, Vestments, gold, and colors bright. 
Counted how many tapers gave their light ; 
Then in minute detail went on to say, 
. How the High Altar looked on Christmas-day : 



A LEGEND OF PROVENCE. 109 

The kings and shepherds, all in green and red, 

And a bright star of jewels overhead. 

Then told the sign by which they all had seen 

How even nature loved to greet her Queen, 

For, when Our Lady's last procession went 

Down the long garden, every head was bent, 

And, rosary in hand, each Sister prayed ; 

As the long floating banners were displayed, 

They struck the hawthorn boughs, and showers and showers 

Of buds and blossoms strewed her way with flowers. 

The knight unwearied listened ; till at last, 

He too described the glories of his past ; 

Tourney, and joust, and pageant bright and fair, 

And all the lovely ladies who were there. 

But half incredulous she heard. Could this — 

This be the world? this place of love and bliss ! 

Where then was hid the strange and hideous charm. 

That never failed to bring the gazer harm ? 

She crossed herself, yet asked, and listened still. 

And still the knight described with all his skill 

The glorious world of joy, all joys above. 

Transfigured in the golden mist of love. 

Spread, spread your wings, ye angel guardians bright. 

And shield these dazzling phantoms from her sight ! 

But no; days passed, matins and vespers rang, 

And still the quiet Nuns toiled, prayed, and sang. 

And never guessed the fatal, coiling net 

Which every day drew near, and nearer yet. 

Around their darling ; for she went and came 

About her duties, outwardly the same. 

The same ? ah, no ! even when she knelt to pray, 

Some charmed dream kept all her heart away. 

So days went on, until the convent gate 

Opened one night. Who durst go forth so late ? 

Across the moonlit grass, with stealthy tread. 

Two silent, shrouded figures passed and fled. 

And all was silent, save the moaning seas. 

That sobbed and pleaded, and a wailing breeze 

That sighed among the perfumed hawthorn-trees. 



110 A LEGEND OF PROVEN CE. 

What need to tell that dream so bright and brief, 

Of joy uncheckered by a dread of grief? 

What need to tell how all such dreams must fade, 

Before the slow, foreboding, dreaded shade, 

That floated nearer, until pomp and pride, 

Pleasure and wealth, were summoned to her side. 

To bid, at least, the noisy hours forget, 

And clamor down the whispers of regret. 

Still Angela strove to dream, and strove in vain ; 

Awakened once, she could not sleep again. 

She saw, each day and hour, more worthless grown 

The heart for which she cast away her own ; 

And her soul learnt, through bitterest inward strife. 

The slight, frail love for which she wrecked her life. 

The phantom for which all her hope was given, 

The cold bleak earth for which she bartered heaven ! 

But all in vain ; would even the tenderest heart 

Now stoop to take so poor an outcast's part ? 



Years fled, and she grew reckless more and more. 
Until the humblest peasant closed his door, 
And where she passed, fair dames, in scorn and pride, 
Shuddered, and drew their rustling robes aside. 
At last a yearning seemed to fill her soul, 
A longing that was stronger than control : 
Once more, just once again, to see the place 
That knew her young and innocent ; to retrace 
The long and weary southern path ; to gaze 
Upon the haven of her childish days ; 
Once more beneath the convent roof to lie ; 
Once more to look upon her home — and die! 
Weary and worn — her comrades, chill remorse 
And black despair, yet a strange silent force 
Within her heart, that drew her more and more — 
Onward she crawled, and begged from door to door. 
Weighed down with weary days, her failing strength 
Grew less each hour, till one day's dawn at length, 
As first its rays flooded the world with light, 
Showed the broad waters, glittering blue and bright, 



A LEGEND. OF PROVENCE. m 

And where, amid the leafy hawthorn wood, 

Just as of old the quiet cloister stood. 

Would any know her ? Nay, no fear. Her face 

Had lost all trace of youth, of joy, of grace. 

Of the pure, happy soul they used to know — 

The novice Angela — so long ago. 

She rang the convent bell. The well-known sound 

Smote on her heart, and bowed her to the ground. 

And she, who had not wept for long, dry years, 

Felt the strange rush of unaccustomed tears ; 

Terror and anguish seemed to check her breath, 

And stop her heart. O God ! could this be death 1 

Crouching against the iron gate, she laid 

Her weary head against the bars, and prayed : 

But nearer footsteps drew, then seemed to wait ; 

And then she heard the opening of the grate. 

And saw the withered face, on which awoke 

Pity and sorrow, as the portress spoke, 

And asked the stranger ^s bidding : " Take me in,'' 

She faltered, " Sister Monica, from sin. 

And sorrow, and despair, that will not cease ; 

O, take me in, and let me die in peace ! " 

With soothing words the Sister bade her wait. 

Until she brought the key to unbar the gate. 

The beggar tried to thatfk her as she lay, 

And heard the echoing footsteps die away. 

But what soft voice was that which sounded near. 

And stirred strange trouble in her heart to hear ? 

She raised her head ; she saw — she seemed to know — • 

A face that came from long, long years ago : 

Herself; yet not as when she fled away. 

The young and blooming novice, fair and gay. 

But a grave woman, gentle and serene: 

The outcast knew it, — what she might have been. 

But, as she gazed and gazed, a radiance bright 

Filled all the place with strange and sudden light*, 

The Nun was there no longer, but instead, 

A figure with a circle round its head, ^ 

A ring of glory ; and a face, so meek. 

So soft, so tender. . . . Angela strove to speak, 



112 A LEGEND OF. PROVENCE. 

And stretched her hands out, crying, '< Mary mild, 

Mother of mercy, help me ! — help your child ! " 

And Mary answered, " From thy bitter past, 

Welcome, my child ! O, welcome home at-last! 

I filled thy place. Thy flight is known to none, 

For all thy daily duties I have done ; 

Gathered thy flowers, and prayed, and sung, and slept; 

Didst thou not know, poor child, thy place was,kept? 

Kind hearts are here; yet would the tenderest one 

Have limits to its mercy : God has none. 

And man's forgiveness may be true and sweet, 

But yet he stoops to give it. More complete 

Is Love that lays forgiveness at thy feet, 

And pleads with thee to raise it. Only Heaven 

Means crowned, not vanquished, when it says, ^Forgiven!'" 

Back hurried Sister Monica ; but where 

Was the poor beggar she left lying there 1 

Gone ; and she searched in vain, and sought the place 

For that wan woman, with the piteous face : 

But only Angela at the gateway stood. 

Laden with hawthorn blossoms from the wood. 

And never did a day pass by again. 

But the old portress, with a sigh of pain. 

Would sorrow for her loitering : with a prayer 

That the poor beggar, in her wild despair, / 

Might not have come to any ill ; and when / 

She ended, *' God forgive her ! " humbly then / 

Did Angela bow her head, and say, ''Amen ! '' / 

How pitiful her heart was ! all could trace 

Something that dimmed the brightness of her face \ 

After that day, which none had seen before ; \ 

Not trouble — but a shadow — nothing more. \ 



Years passed away. Then, one dark day of dreaa 
Saw all the Sisters kneeling round a bed, 
Where Angela lay dying ; every breath 
Struggling beneath the heavy hand of death. 
But suddenly a flush lit up her cheek. 
She raised her wan right hand, and strove to speak. 



A LEGEND OF PROVENCE, 113 

In sorrowing love they listened ; no4; a sound 
Or sigh disturbed the utter silence round. 
The very tapers' flames were scarcely stirred, 
In such hushed awe the Sisters knelt and heard. 
And through that silence Angela told her life : 
Her sin, her flight ; the sorrow and the strife, 
And the return ; and then clear, low, and calm, 
" Praise God for me, my sisters " ; and the psalm 
Rang up to heaven, far and clear and wide, 
Again, and yet again, then sank and died ; 
While her white face had such a smile of peace, 
They saw she never heard the music cease ; 
And weeping Sisters laid her in her tomb, 
Crowned with a wreath of perfumed hawthorn bloom. 

And thus the Legend ended. It may be 
Something is hidden in the mystery. 
Besides the lesson of God's pardon shown, 
Never enough believed, or asked, or known. 
Have we not all, amid life's petty strife, 
Some pure ideal of a noble life 
That once seemed possible? Did we not hear 
The flutter of its wings, and feel it near, 
And just within our reach ? It was. And yet 
We lost it in this daily jar and fret, 
And now live idle in a vague regret. 
But still our place is kept, and it will wait, 
Ready for us to fill it, soon or late : 
No star is ever lost we once have seen, 
We always may be what we might have been. 
Since Good, though only thought, has life and breath, 
God's life — can always be redeemed from death ; 
And evil, in its nature, is decay, 
And any hour can blot it all away ; 
The hopes that lost in some far distance seem, 
May be the truer life, and this the dream. 



114 OVER THE MOUNTAIN, 

ENVY. OVER THE MOUNTAIN. 



He was the first always: For- 
tune 
Shone bright in his face. 
I fought for years; with no ef- 
fort 
He conquered the place : 
We ran ; my feet were all bleed- 
ing, 
But he won the race. 

Spite of his many successes, 
Men loved him the same ; 
My one pale ray of good for- 
tune 
Met scoffing and blame. 
When we erred, they gave him 
pity, 
But me — only shame. 

My home was still in the shadow, 

His lay in the sun : 
I longed in vain : what he asked 
for 
It straightway was done. 
Once I staked all my heart's 
treasure, 
We played — and he won. 

Yes-, and just now I have seen 
him, 
Cold, smiling, and blest. 
Laid in his coffin. God help 
me ! 
While he is at rest, 
I am cursed still to live : — even 
Death loved him the best. 



Like dreary prison walls 

The stern, gray mountains 
rise, 
Until their topmost crags 

Touch the far gloomy skies ; 
One steep and narrow path 

Winds up the mountain's 
crest, 
And froiri our valley leads 

Out to the golden West. 

I dwell here in content. 

Thankful for tranquil days ; 
And yet my eyes grow dim, 

As still I gaze and gaze 
Upon that mountain pass. 

That leads — or so it seems — 
To some far happy land. 

Known in a world of dreams. 

And as I watch that path 

Over the distant hill, 
A foolish longing comes 

My heart and soul to fill, 
A painful, strange desire 

To break some weary bond; 
A vague unuttered wish 

For what might lie beyond ! 

In that far world unknown, 

Over that distant hill. 
May dwell the loved and lost, 

Lost — yet beloved still; 
I have a yearning hope. 

Half longing, and half pain, 
That by that mountain pass 

They may return again. 



BEYOND. 115 



Space may keep friends apart. 

Death has a mighty thrall ; 
There is another gulf 

Harder to cross than all ; 
Yet watching that far road, 

My heart beats full and fast : 
If they should come once more. 

If they should come at last ! 



See, down the mountain-side 

The silver vapors creep ; 
They hide the rocky cliffs, 

They hide the craggy steep, 
They hide the narrow path 

That comes across the hill : - 
O foolish longing, cease, 

O beating Heart, be stiU I 



BEYOND. 

We must not doubt, or fear, or dread, that love for life is only given, 
And that the calm and sainted dead will meet estranged and cold in 

heaven : — 
O, Love were poor and vain indeed, based on so harsh and stern a 

creed. 

True that this earth must pass away, with all the starry worlds of 

light, 
With all the glory of the day, and calmer tenderness of night ; 
For in that radiant home can shine alone the immortal and divine. 

Earth's lower things — her pride, her fame, her science, learning, 
wealth, and power — 

Slow growths that through long ages came, or fruits of some con- 
vulsive hour. 

Whose very memory must decay — Heaven is too pure for such as they. 

They are complete : their work is done. So let them sleep in end- 
less rest. 
Love's life is only here begun, nor is, nor can be, fully blest ; 
It has no room to spread its wings, amid this crowd of meaner things. 

Just for the very shadow thrown upon its sweetness here below, 
The cross that it must bear alone, and bloody baptism of woe, 
Crowned and completed through its pain, we know that it shall rise 
again. 



116 



A WARNING. 



So if its flame burn pure and bright, here, where our air is dark and 

dense, 
And nothing in this world of night lives with a living so intense ; 
When it shall reach its home at length — how bright its light ! how 

strong its strength ! 

And while the vain weak loves of earth (for such base counterfeits 

abound) 
Shall perish with what gave them birth — their graves are green and 

fresh around. 
No funeral song shall need to rise for the true Love that never dies. 

If in my heart I now could fear that, risen again, we should not know 
What was our Life of Life when here, — the hearts we loved so much 

below, — 
I would arise this very day, and cast so poor a thing away. 

But Love is no such soulless clod : living, perfected it shall rise 
Transfigured in the light of God, and giving glory to the skies : 
And that which makes this life so sweet shall render Heaven's joy 
complete. 



A WARNING. 

Place your hands in mine, dear. 
With their rose-leaf touch : 

If you heed my warning. 
It will spare you much. 

Ah ! with just such smiling 

Unbelieving eyes. 
Years ago I heard it : — 

You shall be more wise. 

You have one great treasure, 

Joy for all your life ; 
Do not let it perish 

In one reckless strife. 



Do not venture all, child. 
In one frail, weak heart ; 

So, through any shipwreck, 
You may save a part 



Where your soul is tempted 
Most to trust your fate. 

There, with double caution, 
Linger, fear, and wait. 



Measure all you give, still 
Counting what you take : 

Love for love, so placing 
Each an equal stake. 



MAXIM us. 



117 



if reasure love ; though ready 

Still to live without. 
In your fondest trust, keep 

Just one thread of doubt. 

Build on no to-morrow ; 

Love has but to-day : 
If the links seem slackening, 

Cut the bond away. 

Trust no prayer nor promise ; 

Words are grains of sand : 
To keep your heart unbroken, 

Hold it in your hand. 

That your love may finish 

Calm as it begun. 
Learn this lesson better, 

Dear, than I have done. 

Years hence, perhaps, this warn- 
ing 

You shall give again, 
In just the self-same words, dear. 

And — just as much — in vain. 



MAXIMUS. 

Many, if God should make 
them kings. 
Might not disgrace the throne 
He gave ; 
How few who could as well fulfil 
The holier office of a slave ! 

I hold him great who, for Love's 
sake. 
Can give, with generous, ear- 
nest will, — 



Yet he who takes for Love's 
sweet sake, 
I think I hold more generous 
still. 

I prize the instinct that can 
turn 
From vain pretence with proud 
disdain ; 
Yet more I prize a simple heart 
Paying credulity with pain. 

I bow before the noble mind 
That freely some great wrong 
forgives ; 
Yet nobler is the one forgiven, 
Who bears that burden Veil, 
and lives. 

It may be hard to gain, and still 
To keep a lowly steadfast 
heart ; 

Yet he who loses has to fill 
A harder and a truer part. 

Glorious it is to wear the crown 
Of a deserved and pure suc- 
cess ; — 
He who knows how to fail has 
won 
A Crown whose lustre is not 
less. 

Great may he be who can com- 
mand 
And rule with just and tender 
sway ; 
Yet is diviner wisdom taught 
Better by him who can obey. 



118 



OP TIM US. 



Blessed are those who die for 
God, 
And earn the Martyr's crown 
of light ; 
Yet he who lives for God may be 
A greater Conqueror in His 
sight. 



OPTIMUS. 

There is a deep and subtle snare 
Whose sure temptation hardly 

fails, 
Which, just because it looks so 

fair. 
Only a noble heart assails. 

So ail the more we need be strong 
Against this false and seeming 

Eight ; 
Which none the less is deadly 

wrong, 
Because it glitters clothed in 

light. 

When duties unfulfilled remain. 

Or noble works are left un- 
planned. 

Or when great deeds cry out in 
vain 

On coward heart and trembling 
hand, — 

Then will a seeming Angel 

speak : — 
•< The hours are fleeting — great 

the need — 



If thou art strong and others weak, 
Thine be the effort and the deed. 

" Deaf are their ears who ought 

to hear; 
Idle their hands, and dull their 

soul; 
While sloth, or ignorance, or fear, 
Fetters them with a blind control. 

*' Sort thou the tangled web 

aright ; 
Take thou the toil, take thou the 

pain : 
For fear the hour begin its flight, 
While Right and Duty plead in 

vain." 

And now it is I bid thee pause, 
Nor let this Tempter bend thy will ; 
There are diviner, truer laws 
That teach a nobler lesson still. 

Learn that each duty makes its 

claim 
Upon one soul : not each on all. 
How, if God speaks thy Brother's 

name, 
Dare thou make answer to the 

call? 

The greater peril in the strife. 
The less this evil should be done ; 
For as in battle, so in life. 
Danger and honor still are one. 

Arouse him then : — this is thy 

part : 
Show him the claim ; point out 

the need ; 



TOO LATE. 



119 



And nerve his arm, and cheer 

his heart ; 
Then stand aside, and say, " God 



Smooth thou his path ere it is 

trod; 
Burnish the arms that he must 

wield ; 
And pray, with all thy strength, 

that God 
May crown him Victor of the 

field. 

And then, I think, thy soul shall 

feel 
A nobler thrill of true content, 
Than if presumptuous, eager zeal 
Had seized a crown for others 

meant. 

And even that very deed shall 

shine 
In mystic sense, divine and true, 
More wholly and more purely 

thine — 
Because it is another's too. 



A LOST CHORD. 

Seated one day at the Organ, 
I was weary and ill at ease, 

And my fingers wandered idly 
Over the noisy keys. 

I do not know what I was playing. 
Or what I was dreaming then ; 



But I struck one chord of music, 
Like the sound of a great 
Amen. 

It flooded the crimson twilight, 
Like the close of an AngelV 
Psalm, 

And it lay on my fevered spirit 
With a touch of infinite calm. 

It quieted pain and sorrow, 
Like love overcoming strife ; 

It seemed the harmonious echo 
From our discordant life. 

It linked all perplexed meanings 
Into one perfect peace. 

And trembled away into silence 
As if it were loth to cease. 

I have sought, but I seek it vainly, 
That one lost chord divine. 

Which came from the soul of the 
Organ, 
And entered into mine. 

It may be that Death's brigh* 
angel 

Will speak in that chord agaii*^ 
It may be that only in Heaven 

I shall hear that grand Ame)4. 



TOO LATE. 

Hush ! speak low; tread softly j 
Draw the sheet aside ; — 

Yes, she does look peaceful ; 
With that smile she died. 



120 



THE REQUITAL. 



Yet stern want and sorrow 

Even now you trace 
On the wan, worn features 

Of the still white face. 

Restless, helpless, hopeless, 
Was her bitter part ; — 

Now — how still the Violets 
Lie upon her Heart ! 

She who toiled and labored 

For her daily bread ; 
See the velvet hangings 

Of this stately bed. 

Yes, they did forgive her ; 

Brought her home at last ; 
Strove to cover over 

Their relentless past. 

Ah, they would have given 
Wealth, and home, and pride, 

To see her just look happy 
Once before she died ! 

They strove hard to please her, 
But, when death is near, 

All you know is deadened, 
Hope, and joy, and fear. 

And besides, one sorrow 
Deeper still — one pain 

Was beyond them : healing 
Came to-day — in vain ! 

If she had but lingered 
Just a few hours more ; 

Or had this letter reached her 
Just one day before ! 



I can almost pity 

Even him to-day ; 
Though he let this anguish 

Eat her heart away. 

Yet she never blamed him ; — 
One day you shall know 

How this sorrow happened ; 
It was long ago. 

I have read the letter ; 

Many a weary year. 
For one word she hungered, — 

There are thousands here. 

If she could but hear it. 
Could but understand ; 

See, — I put the letter 
In her cold white hand. 

Even these words, so longed for, 

Do not stir her rest ; 
Well, I should not murmur, 

For God judges best. 

She needs no more pity, — 

But I mourn his fate. 
When he hears his letter 

Came a day too late. 



THE REQUITAL. 

Loud roared the Tempest, 
Fast fell the sleet ; 

A little Child Angel 
Passed down the street. 

With trailing pinions, 
And weary feet. 



RETURNED — "' MISSING: 



121 



The moon was hidden ; 

No stars were bright; 
So she could not shelter 

In heaven that night, 
t'or the Angels' ladders 

Are rays of light. 

She beat her wings 
At each window-pane, 

And pleaded for shelter, 
But all in vain ; — 

"Listen/' they said, 
" To the pelting rain ! " 

She sobbed, as the laughter 
And mirth grew higher, 

" Give me rest and shelter 
Beside your fire, 

And I will give you 
Your heart's desire." 

The dreamer sat watching 

His embers gleam, 
While his heart was floating 

Down hope's bright stream ; 
... So he wove her wailing 

Into his dream. 

The worker toiled on, 
For his time was brief ; 

The mourner was nursing 
Her own pale grief; 

They heard not the promise 
That brought relief. 

But fiercer the Tempest 

Rose than before. 
When the Angel paused 

At a humble door, 



And asked for shelter 
And help once more 

A weary woman, 

Pale, worn, and thin. 

With the brand upon her 
Of want and sin. 

Heard the Child Angel 
And took her in. 

Took her in gently. 

And did her best 
To dry her pinions ; 

And made her rest 
With tender pity 

Upon her breast. 

When the eastern morning 
Grew bright and red, 

Up the first sunbeam 
The Angel fled ; 

Having kissed the woman 
And left her — dead. 



RETURNED — « MISSING.** 

(FIVE TEARS AFTER.) 

Yes, I was sad and anxious. 
But now, dear, I am gay ; 

I know that it is wisest 
To put all hope away : — 

Thank God that I have done 
so. 
And can be calm to-day ! 



122 



IN THE WOOD, 



For hope deferred — you know 
it — 
Once made my heart so sick : 
Now, I expect no longer; 

It is but the old trick 
Of hope, that makes me tremble, 
And makes my heart beat 
quick. 

All day I sit here calmly ; 

Not as I did before. 
Watching for one whose footstep 

Comes never, never more. . . . 
Hush ! was that some one pass- 
ing, 

Who paused beside the door 1 

For years I hung on chances. 
Longing for just one word ; 

At last I feel it : — silence 
Will never more be stirred. . . 

Tell me once more that rumor 
You fancied you had heard. 

Life has more things to dwell on 
Than just one useless pain. 

Useless and past forever ; 
But noble things remain. 

And wait us all : . . . you too, 
dear. 
Do you think hope quite vain ? 

All others have forgotten, 
'T is right I should forget. 

Nor live on a keen longing 
Which shadows forth re- 
gret : . . . 

Are not the letters coming ? 
The sun is almost set. 



Now that my restless legion 
Of hopes and fears is fled, 

Reading is joy and comfort . . . 
, . . This very day I read, 

O, such a strange returning 
Of one whom all thought 
dead! 



Not that / dream or fancy, 
You know all that is past ; 

Earth has no hope to give me, 
And yet — Time flies so fast 

That all but the impossible 
Might be brought back at last. 



IN THE WOOD. 

In the wood where shadows ar« 
deepest 
From the branches overhead, 
Where the wild wood-strawber- 
ries cluster. 
And the softest moss is spread, 
I met to-day with a fairy. 

And I followed her where she 
led. 

Some magical words she uttered, 

I alone could understand, 
For the sky grew bluer and 
brighter ; 
While there rose on either 
hand 
The cloudy walls of a palace 
That was built in Fairy-land. 



TJVO WORLDS. 



123 



AnO I stood in a strange en- 
chantment ; 
I had known it all before : 
In my heart of hearts was the 
magic 
Of days that will come no 
more, 
The magic of joy departed, 
That Time can never restore. 

That never, ah, never, never, 
Never again can be : — 

Shall I tell you what powerful 
fairy 
Built up this palace for me ? 

It was only a little white Violet 
I found at the root of a tree. 



TWO WORLDS. 

God's world is bathed in beauty, 
God's world is steeped in light ; 

It is the self-same glory 

That makes the day so bright. 

Which thrills the earth with 
music. 
Or hangs the stars in night. 

^lid in earth's mines of silver, 
Floating on clouds above, — 

Ringing in Autumn's tempest, 
Murmured by every dove, — 

One thought fills God's creation. 
His own great name of Love ! 

In God's world Strength is 
lovely. 
And so is Beauty strong, 



And Light — God's glorious 
shadow — 

To both great gifts belong ; 
And they all melt into sweetness. 

And fill the earth with Song. 

Above God's world bends 
Heaven, 
With day's kiss pure and 
bright. 
Or folds her still more fondly 

In the tender shade of night ; 
And she casts back Heaven'.*? 
sweetness. 
In fragrant love and light. 

God's world has one great echo ; 
Whether calm blue mists ar^ 
curled. 
Or lingering dew-drops quiver, 
Or red storms are unfurled ; 
The same deep love is throbbing 
Through the great heart o/ 
God's world. 

Man's world is black and bligh* 
ed, 
Steeped through with self an il 
sin ; 
And should his feeble purpose 

Some feeble good begin. 
The work is marred and tainted 
By Leprosy within. 

Man's world is bleak and bittex ; 

Wherever he has trod 
He spoils the tender beauty 

That blossoms on the sod. 



124 



4 NEW MOTHER. 



And blasts the loving Heaven 
Of the great, good world of 
God. 

There Strength on coward weak- 
ness 

In cruel might will roll ; 
Beauty and Joy are cankers 

That eat away the soul ; 
And Love — O God, avenge it — 

The plague-spot of the whole. 

Man's world is Pain and Terror ; 

He found it pure and fair. 
And wove in nets of sorrow 

The golden summer air. 
Black, hideous, cold, and dreary, 

Man's curse, not God's, is there. 

And yet God's world is speaking : 
Man will not hear it call ; 

But listens where the echoes 
Of his own discords fall, 

Then clamors back to Heaven 
That God has done it all. 

O God, man's heart is darkened. 
He will not understand ! 

Show him Thy cloud and fire ; 
And, with Thine own right 
hand. 

Then lead him through his desert, 
Back to Thy Holy Land ! 



A NEW MOTHER. 

7 WAS with my lady when she 

died : 
I it was who guided her weak hand 



For a blessing on each little 

head, 
Laid her baby by her on the 
bed, 
Heard the words they could not 
understand. 

And I drew them round my 

knee that night, 
Hushed their childish glee, and 

made them say i 

They would keep her words 

with loving tears, 
They would not forget her 

dying fears 
Lest the thought of her should 

fade away. 

I, who guessed what her last 

dread had been. 
Made a promise to that still, 

cold face. 
That her children's hearts, at 

any cost. 
Should be with the mother 

they had lost. 
When a stranger came to take 

her place. 

And I knew so much ! for I had 
lived 

With my lady since her child- 
hood : known 
What her young and happy 

days had been, 
And the grief no other eyes 
had seen 

I had watched and sorrowed for 
alone. 



A NEW MOTHER, 



125 



Ah ! she once had such a happy 

smile ! 
1 had known how sorely she was 

tried : 
Six short years before, her eyes 

were bright 
As her little blue-eyed May's 

that night, 
When she stood by her dead 

mother's side. 

No, I will not say he was un- 
kind; 

But she had been used to love 
and praise. 
He was somewhat grave, — 

perhaps, in truth. 
Could not weave her joyous, 
smiling youth 

Into all his stern and serious 
ways. 

She, who should have reigned a 

blooming flower. 
First in pride and honor, as in 

grace, — 
She, whose will had once ruled 

all around. 
Queen and darling of us all, — 

she found 
Change indeed ir^, that cold, 

stately place. 

Yet she would not blame him, 

even to me, 
Though she often sat and wept 

alone ; 
But she could not hide it near 

her death, 



When she said with her last 
struggling breath, 
" Let my babies still remain my 
own ! " 

I it was who drew the sheet aside, 
When he saw his dead wife's 
face. That test 
Seemed to strike right to his 

heart. He said. 
In a strange, low whisper, to 
the dead, 
"God knows, love, I did it for 
the best ! " 

And he wept — O yes, I will be 

just — 
When I brought the children to 

him there, 
Wondering sorrow in their 

baby eyes ; 
And he soothed them with his 

fond replies. 
Bidding me give double love and 

care. 

Ah, I loved them well for her 

dear sake : 
Little Arthur, with his serious air; 
May, with all her mother's 

pretty ways. 
Blushing, and at any word of 
praise 
Shaking out her sunny golde> 
hair. 

And the little one of all — pooi 

child ! 
She had cost that dear and pre* 

cious life. 



126 



A NEW MOTHER, 



Once Sir Arthur spoke my 
lady's name, 

When the baby's gloomy chris- 
tening came, 
And he called her *' Olga — like 
my wife ! *' 

Save that time, he never spoke 

of her : 
He grew graver, sterner, every 

day; 
And the children felt it, for 

they dropped 
Low their voices, and their 

laughter stopped, 
While he stood and watched them 

at their play. 

No, he never named their moth- 
er's name. 

But I told them of her : told 
them all 
She had been ; so gentle, good, 

and bright ; 
And I always took them every 
night 

Where her picture hung in the 
great hall. 

There she stood : white daisies 

in her hand, 
And her red lips parted as to 

speak 
With a smile; the blue and 

sunny air 
Seemed to stir her floating 

golden hair. 
And to bring a faint blush on 

her cheek. 



Well, so time passed on ; a year 

was gone. 
And Sir Arthur had been much 

away. 
Then the news came ! I shed 

many tears 
When I saw the truth of all 

my fears 
Rise before me on that bitter 

day. 

Any one but her I could have 

borne ! 
But my lady loved her as her 

friend. 
Through their childhood and 

their early youth, 
How she used to count upon 

the truth 
Of this friendship that would 

never end ! 



Older, graver than my lady was, 
Whose young, gentle heart on 
her relied, 
She would give advice, and 

praise, and blame. 
And my lady leant on Mar- 
garet's name. 
As her dearest comfort, help, and 
guide. 

I had never liked her, and I 

think 
That my lady grew to doubt her 

too, 
Since her marriage; for she 

named her less, 



A NEW MOTHER, 
Never saw her, and I used to 



127 



At some secret wrong I never 
knew. 



That might be or not. But now, 

to hear 
She would come and reign here 

in her stead, 
With the pomp and splendor 

of a bride : 
Would no thought reproach 

her in her pride 
With the silent memory of the 

dead? 



So, the day came, and the bells 
rang out, 

And I laid the children's black 
aside ; 
And I held each little trem- 
bling hand. 
As I strove to make them un- 
derstand 

They must greet their father's 
new-made bride. 



Ah, Sir Arthur might look grave 

and stern. 
And his lady's eyes might well 

grow dim. 
When the children shrank in 

fear away, — 
Little Arthur hid his face, and 

May 
Would not raise her eyes, or 

speak to him. 



When Sir Arthur bade them 

greet their " mother," 
I was forced to chide, yet proud 
to hear 
How my little loving May re- 
plied. 
With her mother's pretty air 
of pride, — 
"Our dear mother has been dead 



a year 



Ah, the lady's tears might well 

fall fast, 
As she kissed them, and then 

turned away. 
She might strive to smile or 

to forget, 
But I think some shadow of 

regret 
Must have risen to blight her 

wedding-day. 



She had some strange touch of 

self-reproach ; 
For she used to linger day by 

day. 
By the nursery door, or gardei> 

gate. 
With a sad, calm, wistful look, 

and wait 
Watching the three childrea at 

their play. 



But they always shrank away 

from her 
When she strove to comfort their 

alarms^ 



128 



A NEW MOTHER. 



And their grave, cold silence 

to beguile : 
Even little Olga^s baby-smile 
Quivered into tears when in her 



I could never chide them : for I 

saw- 
How their mother's memory grew 

more deep 
In their hearts. Each night I 

had to tell 
Stories of her whom I loved 

so well 
When a child, to send them off 

to sleep. 



But Sir Arthur — O, this was 

too hard ! — 
He, who had been always stern 

and sad 
In my lady's time, seemed to 

rejoice 
Each day more ; and I could 

hear his voice 
Even, sounding younger and 

more glad. 

He might perhaps have blamed 

them, but his wife 
Never failed to take the children's 

part : 
She would stay him with her 

pleading tone, 
SayiDg she would strive, and 

strive alone, 
Till she gained each little way 

ward heart. 



And she strove indeed, and 
seemed to be 

Always waiting for their love, 
in vain ; 
Yet, when May had most her 

mother's look, 
Then the lady's calm, cold ac- 
cents shook 

With^some memory of reproach- 
ful pain. 



Little May would never call her' 

mother : 
So, one day, the lady, bending 
low. 
Kissed her golden curls, and 

softly said, 
" Sweet one, call me Marga- 
ret, instead, — 
Your dear mother used to call 



She was gentle, kind, and pa- 
tient too. 

Yet in vain : the children held 
apart. 
Ah, their mother's gentle 

memory dwelt 
Near them, and her little or- 
phans felt 

She had the first claim upon 
their heart. 



So three years passed ; then the 

war broke out ; 
And a rumor seemed to spread 

and rise ; 



A NEW MOTHER, 



129 



First we guessed what sorrow 

must befall, 
Then all doubt fled, for we 

read it all 
In the depths of her despairing 

eyes. 

Yes ; Sir Arthur had been called 

away 
To that scene of slaughter, fear, 

and strife, — 
Now he seemed to know with 

double pain 
The cold, bitter gulf that must 

remain 
To divide his children from his 

wife. 

Nearer came the day he was to 

sail. 
Deeper grew the coming woe 

and fear. 
When, one night, the children 

at my knee 
Knelt to say their evening 

prayer to me, 
I looked up and saw Sir Arthur 

near. 

There they knelt with folded 

hands, and said 
Low, soft words in stammering 

accents sweet ; 
In the firelight shone their 

golden hair 
And white robes : my darlings 

looked so fair, 
With their little bare and rosy 

feet! 



There he waited till their low 

" Amen ! " 
Stopped the rosy lips raised for 

" Good night ! " — 
Drew them with a fond clasp, 

close and near. 
As he bade them stay with 

him, and hear 
Something that would make his 

heart more light. 

Little Olga crept into his arms ; 
Arthur leant upon his shoulder ; 
May 
Knelt .beside him, with her 

earnest eyes 
Lifted up in patient, calm sur- 
prise, — 
I can almost hear his words to- 
day. 

"Years ago, my children, years 

ago. 
When your mother was a child, 

she came 
From her Northern home, 

and here she met 
Love for love, and comfort for 

regret. 
In one early friend, — you know 

her name. 



" And this friend — a few years 

older — gave 
Such fond care, such love, that 

day by day 
The new home grew ^'^ppy, 

joy complete, 



130 



A NEW MOTHER, 



Studies easier, and play more 
sweet, 
While all childish sorrows passed 
away. 



"And your mother — fragile, 
like my May — 

Leant on this deep love, — nor 
leant in vain. 
For this friend (strong, gener- 
ous, noble heart!) 
Gave the sweet, and took the 
bitter part, — 

Brought her all the joy, and kept 
the pain. 



" Years passed on, and then I 
saw them first : 

It was hard to say which was 
most fair, 
Your sweet mother's bright 

and blushing face. 
Or the graver Margaret's state- 
ly grace ; 

Golden locks, or braided raven 
hair. 



"Then it happened, by a 

strange, sad fate. 
One thought entered into each 

young soul : 
Joy for one — if for the other 

pain ; 
Loss for one — if for the other 

gain : 
One must lose, and one possess 

the whole. 



" And so this — this — what they 

cared for — came 
And belonged to Margaret : was 

her own. 
But she laid the gift aside, to 

take 
Pain and sorrow for j-our 

mother's sake, 
And none knew it but herself 

alone. 



" Then she travelled far away, 
and none 

The strange mystery of her ab- 
sence knew. 
Margaret's secret thought was 

never told : 
Even your mother thought 
her changed and cold, 

And for many years I thought 
so too. 



" She was gone ; and then your 

mother took 
That poor gift which Margaret 

laid aside : 
Flower, or toy, or trinket, 

matters not : 
What it was' had better be 

forgot . . . 
It was just then she became my 

bride. 



" Now, I think May knows the 

hope I have. 
Arthur, darling, can you guess 

the rest ? 



GIVE PLACE. 



131 



Even my little Olga under- 
stands 

Great gifts can be given by 
little hands, 
Since of all gifts Love is still the 
best. 

« Margaret is my dear and hon- 
ored wife, 

And I hold her so. But she 
can claim 
From your hearts, dear ones, 

a loving debt 
I can neither pay, nor yet for- 
get : 

You can give it in your mother^s 
name. 



''Earth spoils even Love, and 

here a shade 
On the purest, noblest heart may 

fall: 
Now your mother dwells in 

perfect light, 
She will bless us, I beHeve^ 

to-night, — 
She is happy now, and she knows 

all." 



Next day was farewell, — a day 

of tears ; 
Yet Sir Arthur, as he rode away. 
And turned back to see his 

lady stand 
With the children clinging to 
her hand, 
looked, as if it were a happy 
day. 



Ah, they loved her soon ! The 

little one 
Crept into her arms as to a nest ; 
Arthur always with her now ; 

and May 
Growing nearer to her every 
day: — 
— Well, I loved my own dear 
lady best. 



GIVE PLACE. 

Starry Crowns of Heaven 

Set in azure night ! 
Linger yet a little 

Ere you hide your light : — 

— Nay ; let Starlight fade 
away. 

Heralding the day ! 

Snow-flakes pure and spotless, 

Still, 0, still remain, 
Binding dreary winter. 

In your silver chain : — 

— Nay ; but melt at once 
and bring 

Radiant sunny Spring ! 

Blossoms, gentle blossoms. 

Do not wither yet ; 
Still for you the sun shines. 

Still the dews are wet : — 

— Nay ; but fade and wither 
fast, 

Fruit must come at last ! 



132 



MY WILL. 



Joy, so true and tender, 
Dare you not abide ? 
Will you spread your pinions, 
Must you leave our side 1 
— Nay; an AngeFs shin- 
ing grace 
Waits to fill your place ! 



MY WILL. 

Since I have no lands or houses, 
And no hoarded golden store, 
What can I leave those who love 
me 
When they see my face no 
more ? 
Do not smile ; I am not jesting, 
Though my words sound gay 
and light. 
Listen to me, dearest Alice, 
I will make my Will to-night. 

First for Mabel, — who will 
never 
Let the dust of future years 
Dim the thought of me, but keep 
it 
Brighter still : perhaps with 
tears. 
In whose eyes, whatever I glance 
at. 
Touch, or praise, will always 
shine. 
Through a strange and sacred 
radiance. 
By Love's Charter, wholly 
mine: 



She will never lend to others 
Slenderest link of thought I 
claim, 
I will, therefore, to her keeping 
Leave my memory and my 
name. 

Bertha will do truer service 
To her kind than I have 
done. 
So I leave to her young spirit 

The long Work I have begun. 
Well ! the threads are tangled, 
broken. 
And the colors do not blend, 
She will bend her earnest striving 

Both to finish and amend : 
And, when it is all completed. 
Strong with care and rich with 
skill. 
Just because my hands began 
it, 
She will love it better still. 

Kuth shall have my dearest 
token. 
The one link I dread to break, 
The one duty that I live for, 
She, when I am gone, will 
take. 
Sacred is the trust I leave her. 
Needing patience, prayer, and 
tears ; 
I have striven to fulfil it, 

As she knows, these many 
years. 
Sometimes hopeless, faint, an^ 
weary. 
Yet a blessing shall remaiPt 



A CHANT. 



133 



With the task, and Euth will 
prize it, 
For my many hours of pain. 

What must I leave you, my 
Alice ? 
Nothing, Love, to do or bear, 
Nothing that can dim your blue 
eyes 
With the slightest cloud of 
care. 
I will leave my heart to love you. 
With the tender faith of old ; 
Still to comfort, warm, and light 
you, 
Should your life grow dark or 
cold. 
No one else, my child, can claim 
it; 
Though you find old scars of 
pain. 
They were only wounds, my dar- 
ling. 
There is not, I trust, one 
stain. 

Are my gifts indeed so worthless 
Now the slender sum is told ? 
Well, I know not: years may 
bless them 
With a nobler price than gold. 
Am I poor? ah no, most 
wealthy, 
Not in these poor gifts you 
take. 
But in the true hearts that tell 
me 
You will keep them for my 
sake. 



KING AND SLAVE. 

If in my soul, dear. 

An omen should dwell, 
Bidding me pause, ere 

I love thee too well ; 
If the whole circle 

Of noble and wise. 
With stern forebodings. 

Between us should rise ; — 

I will tell them, dear. 

That Love reigns — a King, 
Where storms cannot reach him, 

And words cannot sting ; 
He counts it dishonor 

His faith to recall ; 
He trusts ; — and forever 

He gives — and gives all ! 

I will tell thee, dear, 

That Love is — a Slave, 
Who dreads thought of freedom, 

As life dreads the grave ; 
And if doubt or peril 

Of change there may be, 
Such fear would but drive him 

Still nearer to thee ! 



A CHANT. 

'* Benedictus qui venit in nomine Do- 
mini.^^ 



Who is the Angel that cometh? 

Life! 
Let us not question what he 
brings, 
Peace or Strife ; 



134 



A CHANT, 



Under the shade of his mighty 
wings, 
One by one, 
Are his secrets told ; 
One by one. 
Lit by the rays of each morning 
sun, 
Shall a new flower its petals 

unfold, 
With the mystery hid in its 
heart of gold. 
"We will arise and go forth %q 
greet him, 
Singly, gladly, with v^ne ac- 
cord ; — 
"Blessed is he that cometh 

In the name of tnb Lord ! " 



Who is the Angel ohdt cometh ? 

Joy! 
Look at his glittering rainbow 
wings, — 
1^0 alloy 
Lies in ihe radiant gifts he 
brings ; 
Tender and sweet, 
He is come to-day. 
Tender and sweet : 
While chains of love on his 

silver feet 
Will hold him in lingering fond 

delay. 
But greet him quickly, he will 

not stay, 
Boon he will leave us ; but 
though for others 
All his brightest treasures are 
stored, — 



" Blessed is he that cometh 

In thte name of tk<j Lord ! ^* 



Who iS ihe Angel that cometh ? 

Pain ! 
Let us arise and go forth to greet 
him ; 
Not in vain 
Is the summons come for us to 
meet him ; 
He will stay. 
And darken our sun ; 
He will stay 
A desolate night, a weary day. 
Since in that shadow our 

work is done. 
And in that shadow our 
crowns are won. 
Let us say still, while his bitter 
chalice 
Slowly into our hearts is 
poured, — 
" Blessed is he that cometh 

In the name of the Lord ! '* 



Who is the Angel that cometh ? 

Death ! 
But do not shudder and do not 
fear ; 
Hold your breath, 
For a kingly presence is drawing 
near, 
Cold and bright 
Is his flashing steel. 
Cold and bright 



REST. 



135 



The smile that comes like a 
starry light 
To calm the terror and grief 

we feel ; 
He comes to help and to save 
and heal : 
Then let us, baring our hearts 
and kneeling, 
Sing, while we wait this An- 
gelas sword, — 
" Blessed is he that cometh 

In the name of the Lord ! " 



DREAM-LIFE. 

Listen, friend, and I will tell 
you 
Why I sometimes seem so 
glad. 
Then, without a reason, chang- 
ing, 
Soon become so grave and 



Half my life I live a beggar. 
Ragged, helpless, and alone ; 

But the other half a monarch. 
With my courtiers round my 
throne. 

Half my life is full of sorrow. 
Half of joy, still fresh and 
new; 

One of these lives is a fancy, 
But the other one is true. 



While I live and feast on glad- 
ness. 
Still I feel the thought remain, 
This must soon end, — nearer, 
nearer. 
Comes the life of grief and 
pain. 

While I live a wretched beggar. 
One bright hope my lot can 
cheer ; 
Soon, soon thou shalt have thy 
kmgdom. 
Brighter hours are drawing 
near. 

So you see my life is twofold. 
Half a pleasure, half a grief; 

Thus all joy is somewhat tern 
pered. 
And all sorrow finds relief. 

Which, you ask me, is the real life, 
Which the dream, — the joy, 
or woe % 

Hush, friend ! it is little matter. 
And, indeed — I never know. 



REST. 



Spread, spread thy silver wings, 

O Dove ! 
And seek for rest by land and 

sea. 
And bring the tidings back to me 
For thee and me and those I 

love. 



136 



RES2, 



Look how my Dove soars 
far away ; 

Go with her, heart of mine, 
I pray ; 

Go where her fluttering silver 
pinions 

Follow the track of the crim- 
son day. 

Is rest where cloudlets slowly 

creep, 
And sobbing winds forget to 

grieve. 
And quiet waters gently heave. 
As if they rocked the ship to 
sleep ? 
Ah no ! that southern vapor 

white 
Will bring a tempest ere the 

night. 
And thunder through the 

quiet heaven, 
Lashing the sea in its angry 
might. 

The battle-field lies still and cold. 
While stars that watch in silent 

light 
Gleam here and there on weap- 
ons bright. 
In weary sleepers' slackened 
hold; 
Nay, though they dream of no 

alarm. 
One bugle sound will stir that 

calm. 
And all the strength of two 

great nations. 
Eager for battle, will rise and 
arm. 



Pause where the Pilgrims' day is 

done. 
Where scrip and staff aside are 

laid, 
And, resting in the silent shade, 
They watch the slowly sinking 
sun. 
Ah no ! that worn and weary 

band 
Must journey long before they 

stand. 
With bleeding feet, and hearts 

rejoicing, 
Kissing the dust of the Holy 
Land. 

Then find a soul who meets at 

last 
A noble prize but hard to gain, 
Or joy long pleaded for in vain, 
Now sweeter for a bitter past. 
Ah no ! for Time can rob her 

yet, 

And even should cruel Time 

forget. 
Then Death will come, and, 

unrelenting, 
Brand her with sorrowful long 

regret. 

Seek farther, farther yet, Dove ! 
Beyond the Land, beyond the 

Sea, 
There shall be rest for thee and 

me. 
For thee and me and those I 
love. 
I heard a promise gently fall, 
I heard a far-off Shepherd cal) 



THE TYRANT AND THE CAPTIVE. 



137 



The weary and the broken- 
hearted, 

Promising rest unto each and 
all- 

It is not marred by outward 

strife, 
It is not lost in calm repose. 
It heedeth neither joys nor woes, 
Is not disturbed by death or life ; 
Through, and beyond them, 

lies our Rest : 
Then cease, O Heart, thy 

longing quest ! 
And thou, my Dove, with sil- 
ver pinions 
Flutter again to thy quiet 
nest! 



THE TYRANT AND THE 
CAPTIVE. 

It was midnight when I listened, 
And I heard two Voices 
speak ; 
One was harsh, and stern, and 
cruel, 
And the other soft and weak : 
Yet I saw no Vision enter. 

And I heard no steps depart. 
Of this Tyrant and his Cap- 
tive, . . . 
Fate it might be and a Heart. 

Thus the stern Voice spake in 
triumph : — 
** I have shut your life away 



From the radiant world of na- 
ture, 
And the perfumed light of day. 
You, who loved to steep your 
spirit 
In the charm of Earth's de- 
light. 
See no glory of the daytime. 
And no sweetness of the 
night." 

But the soft Voice answered 
calmly : — 
" Nay, for when the March 
winds bring 
Just a whisper to my window, 

I can dream the rest of Spring; 
And to-day I saw a swallow 

Flitting past my prison bars. 
And my cell has just one corner 
Whence at night I see the 
stars." 

But its bitter taunt repeating, 

Cried the harsh Voice : — 
" Where are they. 
All the friends of former hours, 

Who forget your name to-day 1 
All the links of love are shattered, 

Which you thought so strong 
before ; 
And your very heart is lonely. 

And alone since loved no 



But the low Voice spoke 6till 
lower : — 

"Nay, I know the golden chain 
Of my love is purer, stronger, 

For the cruel fire of pain : 



138 



THE CARVERS LESSON, 



They remember me no longer, 
But I, grieving here alone, 

Bind their souls to me forever 
Bj the love v^ithin my own." 

But the Voice cried : — "Once 
remember 

You devoted soul and mind 
To the welfare of your brethren. 

And the service of your kind. 
Now, what sorrow can you com- 
fort ? 

You, who lie in helpless pain. 
With an impotent compassion 

Fretting out your life in vain." 

*' Nay " ; and then the gentle 
answer 
Eose more loud, and full, and 
clear : 
**ror the sake of all my brethren 
I thank God that I am here ! 
Poor had been my Lifers best 
efforts, 
Now I waste no thought or 
breath, — 
For the prayer of those who suf- 
fer 
Has the strength of Love and 
Death." 



THE CARVER'S LESSON. 

Trust me, no mere skill of sub- 
tle tracery, 
No mere jnactice of a dexter- 
ous hand. 



Will suffice, without a hidden 
spirit, 
That we may, or may not, 
understand. 

And those quaint old fragments 
that are left us 
Have their power in this, — 
the Carver brought 
Earnest care, and reverent pa- 
tience, only 
Worthily to clothe some noble 
thought. 

Shut then in the petals of the 
flowers. 
Round the stems of all the> 
lilies twine. 
Hide beneath each bird's or 
angel's pinion. 
Some wise meaning or some 
thought divine. 

Place in stony hands that pray 
forever 
Tender words of peace, and 
strive to wind 
Round the leafy scrolls and 
fretted niches 
Some true, loving message to 
your kind. 

Some will praise, some blame, 
and, soon forgetting. 
Come and go, nor even pause 
to gaze ; 
Only now and then a passing 
stranger 
Just may loiter with a word 
of praise. 



But I think, when years have 
floated onward, 
And the stone is gray, and 
dim, and old, 
And the hand forgotten that 
has carved it, 
And the heart that dreamt it 
still and cold ; 

There may come some weary 
soul, overladen 
With perplexed struggle in 
his brain, 
Or, it may be, fretted with life's 
turmoil, 
Or made sore with some per- 
petual pain. 

Then, I think those stony hands 
will open. 
And the gentle lilies overflow. 
With the blessing and the lov- 
ing token 
That you hid there many 
years ago. 

And the tendrils will unroll, 
and teach him 
How to solve the problem of 
his pain ; 
And the birds' and angels' 
wings shake downward 
On his heart a sweet and 
tender rain. 

While he marvels at his fancy, 
reading 
Meaning in that quaint and 
ancient scroll, 



THREE ROSES, 139 

Little guessing that the loving 

Cn.rvp.r 



Carver 

Left a message for his weary 
soul. 



THEEE ROSES. 

Just when the red June Roses 
blow 

She gave me one, — a year ago. 

A Rose whose crimson breath 
revealed 

The secret that its heart con- 
cealed. 

And whose half-shy, half-tender 
grace 

Blushed back upon the giver's 
face. 
A year ago — a year ago — 
To hope was not to know. 

Just when the red June Roses 

blow 
I plucked her one, — a month 

ago: 
Its half-blown crimson to eclipse, 
I laid it on her smiling lips ; 
The balmy fragrance of the south 
Drew sweetness from her sweet- 
er mouth. 
Swiftly do golden hours 

creep, — 
To hold is not to keep. 

The red June Roses now are 

past. 
This very day J broke the last, — ' 



140 



MY PICTURE GALLERY. 



And now its perfumed breath is 
hid, 

With her, beneath a coffin-lid ; 

There will its petals fall apart, 

And wither on her icy heart : — 
At three red Koses' cost 
My world was gained and lost. 



MY PICTURE GALLERY. 



You write and think of me, my 

friend, with pity ; 
While you are basking in the 

light of Rome, 
Shut up within the heart of this 

great city. 
Too busy and too poor to leave 

my home. 



You think my life debarred all 

rest or pleasure, 
Chained all day to my ledger 

and my pen ; 
Too sickly even to use my little 

leisure 
To bear me from the strife and 

din of men. 



Well, it is true ; yet, now the 

days are longer, 
At sunset I can lay my writing 

down, 



And slowly crawl (summer has 

made me stronger) 
Just to the nearest outskirt of the 

town. 



There a wide Common, black- 
ened though and dreary 

With factory smoke, spreads 
outward to the West ; 

I lie down on the parched-up 
grass, if weary. 

Or lean against a broken wall 
to rest. 



So might a King, turning to 

Art^s rich treasure, 
At evening, when the cares of 

state were done, 
Enter his royal gallery, drinking 

pleasure 
Slowly from each great picture, 

one by one. 



Towards the West I turn my 

weary spirit, 
And watch my pictures : one 

each night is mine. 
Earth and my soul, sick of day^s 

toil, inherit 
A portion of that luminous 

peace divine. 



There I have seen a sunset's 

crimson glory. 
Burn as if earth were one great 

Altar's blaze; 



M7 PICTURE GALLERY, 



141 



Or, like the closing of a piteous 

story, 
Light up the misty world with 

dying rays. 



There I have seen the clouds, 

in pomp and splendor, 
Their gold and purple banners 

all unfurl; 
There I have watched colors, 

more faint and tender 
Than pure and delicate tints 

upon a pearl. 



Skies strewn with roses fading, 
fading slowly, 

While one star trembling watched 
the daylight die ; 

Or deep in gloom a sunset, hid- 
den wholly. 

Save through gold rents torn in 
a violet sky. 



Or parted clouds, as if asunder 
riven 

By some great angel, and be- 
yond a space 

Of far-off tranquil light; the gates 
of Heaven 

Will lead as grandly to as calm 
a place. 



Or stern dark walls of cloudy 

mountain ranges 
Hid all the wonders that we knew 

must be; 



While, far on high, some little 
white clouds' changes 

Revealed the glory they alone 
could see. 



Or in wild wrath the affrighted 
clouds lay shattered. 

Like treasures of the lost Hes- 
perides, 

All in a wealth of ruined splen- 
dor scattered, 

Save one strange light on distant 
silver seas. 



What land or time can claim the 

Master Painter, 
Whose art could teach him half 

such gorgeous dyes ? 
Or skill so rare, but purer hues 

and fainter 
Melt every evening in my western 



So there I wait, until the shade 

has lengthened, 
And night's blue misty curtain 

floated down ; 
Then, with my heart calmed, and 

my spirit strengthened, 
I crawl once more back to the 

sultry town. 



What Monarch, then, has nobler 

recreations 
Than mine ? Or where the great 

and classic Land 



142 



SENT TO HEAVEN, 



Whose wealth of Art delights the 

gathered nations 
That owns a Picture Gallery half 

as grand ? 



SENT TO HEAVEN. 

I HAD a Message to send her, 
To her whom my soul loved 
best ; 
But I had my task to finish, 
And she was gone home to 
rest. 

I'o rest in the far bright heaven : 

O, so far away from here. 
It was vain to speak to my dar- 
ling. 
For I knew she could not 
hear ! 

I had a message to send her, 
So tender, and true, and 
sweet, 

I longed for an Angel to bear it. 
And lay it down at her feet. 

I placed it, one summer evening, 
On a Cloudlet's fleecy breast ; 

But it faded in golden splendor. 
And died in the crimson west. 

I gave it the Lark, next morning. 
And I watched it soar and 
soar; 



But its pinions grew faint and 
weary. 
And it fluttered to earth once 
more. 

To the heart of a Rose I told it ; 
And the perfume, sweet and 
rare. 
Growing faint on the blue bright 
ether. 
Was lost in the balmy air. 

I laid it upon a Censer, 

And I saw the incense rise ; 

But its clouds of rolling silver 
Could not reach the far blua 



I cried, in my passionate long 

ing : — 
" Has the earth no Angel 

friend 
Who will carry my love the mes- 



That my heart desires to 
send ? " 

Then I heard a strain of music, 
So mighty, so pure, so clear. 

That my very sorrow was silent. 
And my heart stood still to 
hear. 

And I felt, in my souFs deep 

yearning, 

At last the sure answer stir : — 

" The music will go up to 

Heaven, 

And carry my thought to her.'' 



NEVER AGAIN. 



143 



It rose in harmonious rushing 
Of mingled voices and strings, 

And I tenderly laid my message 
On the Music's outspread 
wings. 

I heard it float farther and far- 
ther, 
In sound more perfect than 
speech ; 
Farther than sight can follow. 
Farther than soul can reach. 

And I know that at last my 
message 
Has passed through the golden 
gate : 
So my heart is no longer rest- 
less, 
And I am content to wait. 



NEVER AGAIN. 

" Never again ! " vow hearts 
when reunited, 
" Never again shall Love be 
cast aside-; 

Forever now the shadow has de- 
parted ; 
Nor bitter sorrow, veiled in 
scornful pride, 

Shall feign indifference, or affect 
disdain, — 

Never, O Love, again, never 
again ! '' 



" Never again ! " so sobs, in bro- 
ken accents, 
A soul laid prostrate at a holy 
shrine, — 

" Once more, once more forgive, 
O Lord, and pardon. 
My wayward life shall bend to 
love divine ; 

And nevermore shall sin its 
whiteness stain, — 

Never, O God, again, never 
again ! '' 



" Never again ! " so speaketh 

one forsaken. 
In the blank desolate passion 

of despair, — 
" Never again shall the bright 

dream I cherished 
Delude my heart, for bitter 

truth is there, — 
The angel, Hope, shall still thy 

cruel pain 
Never again, my heart, never 

again ! " 



^' Never again ! " so speaks the 

sudden silence, 
When round the hearth gathers 

each well-known face, 
But one is missing, and no future 

presence. 
However dear, can fill that 

vacant place ; 
Forever shall the burning 

thought remain, — 
'' Never, beloved, again ! never 



again 



144 



LISTENING ANGELS. 



*^ Never again ! " so — but beyond 

our hearing — 
Ring out far roices fading up 

the sky ; 
Never again shall earthly care 

and sorrow 
Weigh down the wings that 

bear those souls on high ; 
" Listen, O earth, and hear that 

glorious strain, — 
Never, never again ! never 

again ! " 



LISTENING ANGELS. 

Blue against the bluer heavens 
Stood the mountain, calm and 
still. 
Two white Angels, bending 
earthward, 
Leant upon the hill. 

Listening leant those silent An- 
gels, 
And I also longed to hear 
What sweet strain of earthly 
music 
Thus could charm their ear. 

I heard the sound of many trum- 
pets 
In a warlike march draw 
nigh ; 
Solemnly a mighty army 
Passed in order by. 



But the clang had ceased ; the 
echoes 
Soon had faded from the hill ; 
While the Angels, calm and ear- 
nest, 
Leant and li&tened still. 

Then I heard a fainter clamor. 
Forge and wheel were clashing 
near. 

And the Reapers in the meadow 
Singing loud and clear. 

When the sunset came in glory, 
And the toil of day was o'er, 

Still the Angels leant in silence, 
Listening as before. 

Then, as daylight slowly van* 
ished. 
And the evening mists grew 
dim. 
Solemnly from distant voices 
Rose a vesper hymn. 

When the chant was done, and 
lingering 

Died upon the evening air, 
From the hill the radiant Angels 

Still were listening there. 

Silent came the gathering dark- 
ness. 
Bringing with it sleep and 
rest ; 
Save a little bird was singing 
Near her leafy nest. 



GOLDEN DAYS, 



14C 



Through the sounds of war and 
labor 
She had warbled all day long, 
While the Angels leant and lis- 
tened 
Only to her song. 

But the starry night was com- 
ing; 
When she ceased her little lay, 
From the mountain-top the An- 
gels 
Slowly passed away. 



GOLDEN DAYS. 

Golden days — where are they ? 

Pilgrims east and west 
Cry ; if we could find them 

We would pause and rest : 
We would pause and rest a little 
From our long and weary 
ways : — 
Where are they, then, where are 
they — 
Golden days '' 



Golden days — where are they ? 

Ask of childhood's years, 
Still untouched by sorrow. 

Still undimmed by tears : 
Ah, they seek a phantom Future, 
Crowned with brighter, starry 
rays ; — 
Where are they, then, where are 
they — 
Golden days 1 

Golden days — where are they ? 

Has Love learnt the spell 
That will charm them hither, 
Near our hearth to dwell ? 
Insecure are all her treasures, 
Kestless is her anxious 
gaze: — 
Where are they, then, where are 
they — 
Golden Days ? 

Golden days — where are they ? 

Farther up the hill 
I can hear the echo 

Faintly calling still : 
Faintly calling, faintly dying, 
In a far-off misty haze : — 
Where are they, then, where are 
they — 
Golden days 1 



146 PHILIP AND MILDRED. 



PHILIP AND MILDRED. 

Lingering fade the rays of daylight, and the listening air is chilly; 

Voice of bird and forest murmur, insect hum and quivering spray, 
Stir not in that quiet hour : through the valley, calm and stilly, 

All in hushed and loving silence watch the slow departing Day. 

Till the last faint western cloudlet, faint and rosy, ceases blushing. 
And the blue grows deep and deeper where one trembling planet 
shines. 
And the day has gone forever — then, like some great ocean rushing^ 
The sad night wind wails lamenting, sobbing through the moan- 
ing pines. 



Such, of all day's changing hours, is the fittest and the meetest 

For a farewell hour — and parting looks less bitter and more blest ; 
Earth seems like a shrine for sorrow, Nature's mother voice is 
sweetest. 
And her hand seems laid in chiding on the unquiet throbbing 
breast. 



Words are lower, for the twilight seems rebuking sad repining, 
And wild murmur and rebellion, as all childish and in vain ; 
Breaking through dark future hours clustering starry hopes seem 
shining, 
Then the calm and tender midnight folds her shadow round the 
pain. 



So they paced the shady lime-walk in that twilight dim and holy, 

Still the last farewell deferring, she could hear or he should say ; 
Every word, weighed down by sorrow, fell more tenderly and 
slowly — 
This, which now beheld their parting, should have been their 
wedding-day. 



PHILIP AND MILDRED, 147 

Should have been ; her dreams of childhood, never straying, never 
faltering, 

Still had needed Philip's image to make future life complete ; 
Philip's young hopes of ambition, ever changing, ever altering, 

Needed Mildred's gentle presence even to make successes sweet. 

This day should have seen their marriage ; the calm crowning and 
assurance 

Of two hearts, fulfilling rather, and not changing, either Hfe : 
Now they must be rent asunder, and her heart must learn endurance 

For he leaves their home, and enters on a world of work and strife 

But her gentle spirit long had learnt, unquestioning, submitting, 
To revere his youthful longings, and to marvel at the fate 

That gave such a humble office, all unworthy and unfitting, 

To the genius of the village, who was born for something great. 

When the learned Traveller came there who had gained renown at 
college. 
Whose abstruse research had .won him even European fame. 
Questioned Philip, praised his genius, marvelled at his self-taught 
knowledge, 
Could she murmur if he called him up to London and to fame ? 

Could she waver when he bade her take the burden of decision, 
Since his troth to her was plighted, and his life was now her own ? 

Could she doom him to inaction ? could she, when a new-born vision 
Rose in glory for his future, check it for her sake alone ? 

So her little trembling fingers, that had toiled with such fond pleasure, 
Paused, and laid aside, and folded the unfinished wedding gown ; 

Faltering earnestly assurance, that she too could, in her measure, 
Prize for him the present honor, and the future's sure renown. 

Now they pace the shady lime-walk, now the last words must be 
spoken, 
Words of trust, for neither dreaded more than waiting and delay ; 



148 PHILIP AND MILDRED. 

Was not love still called eternal, — could a plighted vow be 
broken ? — 
See the crimson light of sunset fades in purple mist away. 

" Yes, my Mildred/' Philip told her, " one calm thought of joy and 

blessing, 

Like a guardian spirit by me, through the world's tumultuous stir, 

Still will spread its wings above me, and now urging, now repressing. 

With my Mildred's voice will murmur thoughts of home, and love, 

and her. 

" It will charm my peaceful leisure, sanctify my daily toiling. 

With a right none else possesses, touching my heart's inmost string ; 
And to keep its pure wings spotless I shall fly the world's touch, 
soiling 
Even in thought this Angel Guardian of my Mildred's Wedding 
Ring. 

" Take it, dear ; this little circlet is the first link, strong and holy. 
Of a life-long chain, and holds me from all other love apart ; 

Till the day when you may wear it as my wife — my own — mine 
wholly — 
Let me know it rests forever near the beating of your heart." 

Dawn of day saw Philip speeding on his road to the Great City, 
Thinking how the stars gazed downward just with Mildred's patient 
eyes; 

Dreams of work, and fame, and honor struggling with a tender pity, 
Till the loving Past receding saw the conquering Future rise. 

Daybreak still found Mildred watching, with the wonder of first 
sorrow, 

How the outward world unaltered shone the same this very day; 
How unpitying and relentless busy life met this new morrow, 

Earth, and sky, and man unheeding that her joy had passed away. 

Then the round of weary duties, cold and formal, came to meet her, 
With the life within departed that had given them each a soul ; 

And her sick heart even slighted gentle words that came to greet her; 
Eor Grief spread its shadowy pinions, like a blight upon the whole. 



PHILIP AND MILDRED. 149 

Jar one chord, the harp is silent ; move one stone, the arch is shattered ; 

One small clarion-cry of sorrow bids an armed host awake ; 
One dark cloud can hide the sunlight ; loose one string, the pearls 
are scattered ; 
Think one thought, a soul may perish ; say one word, a heart 
may break ! 

Life went on, he two lives running side by side ; the outward seeming, 
And the truer and diviner hidden in the heart and brain ; 

Dreams grow holy, put in action ; work grows fair through starry 
dreaming ; 
But where each flows on unmingling, both are fruitless and in vain. 

Such was Mildred's life ; her dreaming lay in some far-distant region, 
All the fairer, all the brighter, that its glo?:ies were but guessed ; 

And the daily round of duties seemed an unreal, airy legion, — 
Nothing true save Philip's letters and the ring upon her breast. 

Letters telling how he struggled, for some plan or vision aiming. 
And at last how he just grasped it as a fresh one spread its wings ; 

How the honor or the learning, once the climax, now were claiming, 
Only more and more, becoming merely steps to higher things. 

Telling her of foreign countries : little store had she of learning, 
So her earnest, simple spirit answered as he touched the string ; 

Day by day, to these bright fancies all her silent thoughts were turning. 
Seeing every radiant picture framed within her golden King. 

O poor heart ! love, if thou wiliest ; but, thine own soul still possessing, 
Live thy life : not a reflection or a shadow of his own : 

Lean as fondly, as completely, as thou wiliest, — but confessing 
That thy strength is God's, and therefore can, if need be, stand 
alone. 

Little means were there around her to make farther, wider ranges. 
Where her loving gentle spirit could try any stronger flight ; 

And she turned aside, half fearing that fresh thoughts were fickle 
changes, — 
That she must stay as he left her on that farewell summer night. 



150 PHILIP AND MILDRED. 

Love should still be guide and leader, like a herald should have risen, 
Lighting up the long dark vistas, conquering all opposing fates ; 

But new claims, new thoughts, new duties found her heart a silent 
prison, 
And found Love, with folded pinions, like a jailer by the gates. 

Yet why blame her ? it had needed greater strength than she was given 
To have gone against the current that so calmly flowed along ; 

Ko thing fresh came near the village save the rain and dew of heaven. 
And her nature was too passive, and her love perhaps too strong. 

The great world of thought, that rushes down the years, and on- 
ward sweeping 
Bears upon its mighty billows in its progress each and all. 
Flowed so far away, its murmur did not rouse them from their 
sleeping ; 
Life and Time and Truth were speaking, but they did not hear 
their call. 

Years flowed on ; and every morning heard her prayer grow lower, 
deeper, 
As she called all blessings on him, and bade every ill depart, 
And each night when the cold moonlight shone upon that quiet sleeper, 
It would show her ring that glittered with each throbbing of her 
heart. 

Years passed on. Fame came for Philip in a full, overflowing 
measure ; 

He was spoken of and honored through the breadth of many lands. 
And he wrote it all to Mildred, as if praise were only pleasure. 

As if fame were only honor, when he laid them in her hands. 

Mildred heard it without wonder, as a sure result expected. 
For how could it fail, since merit and renown go side by side ? 

And the neighbors, w^ho first fancied genius ought to be suspected. 
Might at last give up their caution, and could own him now with 
pride. 

Years flowed on. These empty honors led to others they called better, 
He had saved some slender fortune^ and might claim his bride at last: 



PHILIP AND MILDRED. 151 

Mildred, grown so used to waiting, felt half startled by the letter 
That now made her future certain, and would consecrate her past. 

And he came : grown sterner, older — changed indeed : a grave 
reliance 

Had replaced his eager manner, and the quick short speech of old : 
He had gone forth with a spirit half of hope and half defiance ; 

He returned with proud assurance half disdainful and half cold. 

Yet his old self seemed returning while he stood sometimes, and lis- 
tened 

To her calm, soft voice, relating all the thoughts of these long years ; 
And if Mildred's heart was heavy, and at times her blue eyes glistened, 

Still in thought she would not whisper aught of sorrow or of fears. 

Autumn with its golden cornfields, autumn with its storms and showers, 
Had been there to greet his coming with its forests gold and brown ; 

And the last leaves still were falling, fading still the year's last flowers, 
When he left the quiet village, and took back his bride to town. 

Home, — the home that she had pictured many a time in twilight, 
dwelling 
On that tender, gentle fancy, folded round with loving care ;. 
Here was home, — the end, the haven ; and what spirit voice 
seemed telling, 
That she only held the casket, with the gem no longer there ? 

Sad it may be to be longing, with a patience faint and weary, 
For a hope deferred, — and sadder still to see it fade and fall ; 

Yet to grasp the thing we long for, and, with sorrow sick and dreary, 
Then to find how it can fail us, is the saddest pain of all. 

What was wanting ? He was gentle, kind, and generous still, 
deferring 
To her wishes always ; nothing seemed to mar their tranquil life : 
There are skies so calm and leaden that we long for storm-winds 
stirring. 
There is peace so cold and bitter, that we almost welcome strife. 

Darker grew the clouds above her, and the slow conviction clearer^ 
That he gave her home and pity, but that heart and soul and mind 



152 PHILIP AND MILDRED. 

Were beyond her now; beloved ber, and in youth he bad been near her, 
But he now had gone far onward, and had left her there behind. 

Yes, beyond her : yes, quick-hearted, her Love helped her in revealing" 
It was worthless, while so mighty; was too weak, although so strong; 

There were courts she could not enter, depths she could not sound ; 
yet feeling 
It was vain to strive or struggle, vainer still to mourn or long. 

He would give her words of kindness, he would talk of home, but 
seeming 

With an absent look, forgetting if he held or dropped her hand ; 
And then turn with eager pleasure to his writing, reading, dreaming, 

Or to speak of things with others that she could not understand. 

He had paid, and paid most nobly, all he owed ; no need of blaming ; 

It had cost him something, maybe, that no future could restore : 
In her heart of hearts she knew it ; Love and Sorrow, not complaining, 

Only suffered all the deeper, only loved him all the more. 

Sometimes then a stronger anguish, and more cruel, weighed upon 
her. 
That, through all those years of waiting, he had slowly learnt the 
truth ; 
He had known himself mistaken, but that, bound to her in honor, 
He renounced his life, to pay her for the patience of her youth. 

But a star was slowly rising from that mist of grief, and brighter 
Grew her eyes, for each slow hour surer comfort seemed to bring; 

And she watched with strange sad smiling how her trembling hands 
grew slighter. 
And how thin her slender fiuger, and how large her wedding-ring. 

And the tears dropped slowly on it, as she kissed that golden token 
With a deeper love, it may be, than was in the far-off past ; 

And remembering Philip's fancy, that so long ago was spoken, 
Thought her Ring's bright angel guardian had stayed near her to 
the last. 



BORROWED THOUGHTS. 



153 



Grieving sorely, grieving truly, with a tender care and sorrow, 
Philip watched the slow, sure fading of his gentle, patient wife ; 

Could he guess with what a yearning she was longing for the morrow, 
Could he guess the bitter knowledge that had wearied her of life ? 

Now with violets strewn upon her, Mildred lies in peaceful sleeping ; 

All unbound her long, bright tresses, and her throbbing heart at rest, 
And the cold, blue rays of moonlight, through the open casement 
creeping. 

Show the ring upon her finger, and her hands crossed on her breast 

I 
Peace at last. Of peace eternal is her calm, sweet smile a token. 

Has some angel lingering near her let a radiant promise fall"? 
Has he told her Heaven unites again the links that Earth has broken 1 

For on Earth so much is needed, but in Heaven Love is all ! 



BOKROWED THOUGHTS. 



I, FROM "LAVATER.'' 

Trust him little who doth raise 
To one height both great and 
small. 
And sets the sacred crown of 
praise. 
Smiling, on the head of all. 

Trust him less who looks 
around 
To censure all with scornful 
eyes, 
And in everything has found 
Something that he dare de- 
spise. 

But for one who stands apart, 
Stirred by naught that can 
befall. 



With a cold, indifferent heart, — ^ 
Trust him least and last of 
all. 



n. FROM "PHANTASIES." 

I HAVE a bitter Thought, vk 
Snake 
That used to sting my life to 
pain. 
I strove to cast it far away. 
But every night and every day 
It crawled back to my heart 
again ! 

It was in vain to live or strive. 
To think oi sleep, to work or 
pray ; 
At last I bade this thing accursed 



154 



BORROWED THOUGHTS. 



Gnaw at my heart, and do its 
worst, 
And so I let it have its way. 

Thus said I, " I shall never fall 
Into a false and dreaming 
peace, 
And then awake, with sudden 

start, 
To feel it biting at my heart, 
For now the pain can never 
cease/' 

But I gained more ; for I have 
found 
That such a snake's enven- 
omed charm 
Must always, always find a part, 
Deep in the centre of my heart. 
Which it can never wound or 
harm. 

It is coiled round my heart to- 
day. 
It sleeps at times, this cruel 
snake, 
And while it sleeps it never 

stings : — 
Hush ! let us talk of other things, 
Lest it should hear me and 
awake. 



III. FROM *'LOST ALICE." 

Yes, dear, our Love is slain ; 
In the cold grave forevermore it 
lies, 
Never to wake again, 



Or light our sorrow with ils 
starry eyes : 
And so — regret is vain. 

One hour of pain and dread. 
We killed our Love, we took its 
life away 
With the false words we 
said; 
And so we watch it, since that 
cruel day, 
Silent, and cold, and dead 

We should have seen it 
shine 
Long years beside us. Time an i 
Death might try 
To touch that life divine. 
Whose strength could every othe r 
stroke defy 
Save only thine and mine 

No longing can restore 

Our dead again. Vain are the 

tears we weep. 

And vainly we deplore 

Our buried Love : its grave lies 

dark and deep 

Between us evermore. 



IV. FROM * * * 

Within the kingdom of my 

Soul 
I bid you enter. Love, to-day ; 
Submit my life to your control, 
And give my Heart up to your 

sway. 



LIGHT AND SHADE, 



155 



My Past, whose light and life is 

flown, 
Shall live through memory for 

you still; 
Take all my Present - for your 

own, 
And mould my Future to your 

will. 

One only thought remains apart. 
And will forever so remain ; 
There is one Chamber in my 

heart 
Where even you might knock in 

vain. 

A haunted Chamber : — long ago 
I closed it, and I cast the key 
Where deep and bitter waters 

flow. 
Into a vast and silent sea. 

.Dear, it is haunted. All the 

rest 
[s yours ; but I have shut that 

door 
Forever now. 'T is even best 
That I should enter it no more. 

No more. It is not well to stay 
With ghosts ; their very look 

would scare 
Your joyous, loving smile 

away ; — 
So never try to enter there. 

Check, if you love me, all regret 
That this one thought remains 
apart : — ' 



Now let us smile, dear, and for- 
get 

The haunted Chamber in my 
Heart. 



LIGHT AND SHADE. 

Thou hast done well to kneel 

and say, 
" Since He who gave can take 

away. 
And bid me suffer, I obey." 

And also well to tell thy heart. 
That good lies in the bitterest 

part. 
And thou wilt profit by her smart. 

But bitter hours come to all : 
When even truths like these will 

pall. 
Sick hearts for humbler comfort 

call. 

Then I would have thee strive to 

see 
That good and evil come to thee. 
As one of a great family. 

And as material life is planned, 
That even the loneliest one must 

stand 
Dependent on his brother\s 

hand ; 

So links more subtle and more fin« 
Bind every other soul to thine 
In one great brotherhood divine 



156 



LIGHT AND SHADE. 



Nor with thy share of work be 

vexed ; 
Though incomplete, and even 

perplext, 
It fits exactly to the next. 



What seems so dark to thy dim 

sight 
May be a shadow, seen aright, 
Making some brightness doubly 

bright. 

The flash that struck thy tree — 
no more 

To shelter thee — lets Heaven's 
blue floor 

Shine where it never shone be- 
fore. 



Thy life that has been dropped 

aside 
Into Time's stream, may stir the 

tide 
In rippled circles spreading wide. 



The cry. wrung from thy spirit's 

pain 
May echo on some far-off plain, 
And guide a wanderer home 

again. 

Fail — yet rejoice ; because no 
less 

The failure that makes thy dis- 
tress 

May teach another full success. 



It may be that in some great 

need 
Thy life's poor fragments are 

decreed 
To help build up a lofty deed. 

Thy heart should throb in vast 
content. 

Thus knowing that it was but 
meant 

As chord in one great instru- 
ment ; 

That even the discord in thy 

soul 
May make completer music roll 
From out the great harmonious 

whole. 

It may be, that when all is light, 
Deep set within that deep de^ 

light 
Will be to know why all wa»^ 

right ; 

To hear life's perfect music rise, 
And, while it floods the happy 

skies. 
Thy feeble voice to recognize. 

Then strive more gladly to fulfil 
Thy little part. This darkness 

still 
Is light to every loving will. 

And trust, as if already plain 
How just thy share of loss and 

pain 
Is for another fuller gain. 



A CHANGELING, 



157 



I dare not limit time or place 
Touched by thy life : nor dare I 

trace 
Its far vibrations into space. 

One only knows. Yet if the fret 
Of thy weak heart, in weak re- 
gret 
Needs a more tender comfort yet : 

Then thou mayst take thy lone- 
liest fears, 

The bitterest drops of all thy 
tears. 

The dreariest hours of all thy 
years ; 

And through thy anguish there 

outspread. 
May ask that God's great love 

would shed 
Blessings on one beloved head. 

And thus thy soul shall learn to 

draw 
Sweetness from out that loving 

law 
That sees no failure and no flaw, 

"Where all is good. And life is 

good. 
Were the one lesson understood 
Of its most sacred brotherhood. 



A CHANGELING. 

A LITTLE changeling spirit 
Crept to mv arms one day : 



I had no heart or courage 
To drive the child away. 

So all day long I soothed her, 
And hushed her on my breast; 

And all night long her wailing 
Would never let me rest. 

I dug a grave to hold her, 
A grave both dark and deep ; 

I covered her with violets, 
And laid her there to sleep. 

I used to go and watch there. 
Both night and morning 
too : — 

It was my tears, I fancy, 
That kept the violets blue. 

I took her up : and once more 
I felt the clinging hold, 

And heard the ceaseless wailing 
That wearied me of old. 



I wandered, and I wandered. 
With my burden on my breast, 

Till I saw a church-door open, 
And entered in to rest. 

In the dim, dying daylight, 
Set in a flowery shrine, 

I saw the Virgin Mother 
Holding her Child divine. 

I knelt down there in silence, 
And on the altar-stone 

I laid my wailing burden, 
And came away — alone. 



158 



DISCOURAGED. 



And now that little spirit, 
That sobbed so all day long, 

Is grown a shining Angel, 
With wings both wide and 
strong. 

She watches me from Heaven 
With loving, tender care, 

And one day she has promised 
That I shall find her there. 



DISCOURAGED. 

Where the little babbling 
streamlet 
First brings forth to light. 
Trickling through soft velvet 
mosses. 
Almost hid from sight ; 
Vowed I with delight, — 
" River, I will follow thee. 
Through thy wanderings to the 
Sea ! " 

Gleaming 'mid the purple heather, 
Downward then it sped, 

Glancing through the mountain 
gorges. 
Like a silver thread, 
As it quicker fled. 

Louder music in its flow. 

Dashing to the vale below. 

Then its voice grew lower, gen- 
tler. 
And its pace less fleet, 



Just as though it loved to lingir 
Round the rushes' feet. 
As they stooped to meet 
Their clear images below, 
Broken by the ripples' flow. 

Purple Willow-herb bent over 

To her shadow fair ; 
Meadow-sweet, in feathery clus- 
ters. 

Perfumed all the air ; 

Silver-weed was there. 
And in one calm, grassy spot, 
Starry, blue Forget-me-not. 

Tangled weeds, below the waters, 
Still seemed drawn away ; 

Yet the current, floating onward, 
Was less strong than they ; — ' 
Sunbeams watched their play, 

With a flickering light and shade, 

Through the screen the Alder? 
made. 

Broader grew the flowing River ; 

To its grassy brink 
Slowly, in the slanting sun-rays, 

Cattle trooped to drink ; 

The blue sky, I think, 
Was no bluer than that stream, 
Slipping onward, like a dream. 

Quicker, deeper then it hurried. 
Rushing fierce and free ; 

But I said, " It should grow 
calmer 
Ere it meets the Sea, 
The wide purple Sea, 



THE WARRIOR TO HIS DEAD BRIDE, 



159 



Which I weary for in vaiii, 
Wasting all my toil and pain." 

But it rushed still quicker, fiercer, 

In its rocky bed, 
Hard and stony was the pathway 

To ray tired tread ; 

" I despair," I said, 
« Of that wide and glorious Sea 
That was promised unto me." 

So I turned aside, and wandered 
Through green meadows near, 

Far away, among the daisies. 
Far away, for fear 
Lest I still should hear 

The loud murmur of its song. 

As the River flowed along. 

Now I hear it not : — I loiter 

Gayly as before ; 
Yet I sometimes think, — and 
thinking 
Makes my heart so sore, — 
Just a few steps more. 
And there might have shone for 

me. 
Blue and infinite, the Sea. 



IF THOU COULDST KNOW. 

I THINK if thou couldst know, 
O soul that will complain, 

What lies concealed below 
Our burden and our pain ; 



How just our anguish brings 
Nearer those longed-for things 
We seek for now in vain, — 
I think thou wouldst rejoice, and 
not complain. 

I think if thou couldst see. 

With thy dim mortal sight/^ 
How meanings, dark to thee, 
Are shadows hiding light ; 
Truth's efforts crossed and 

vexed. 

Life's purpose all perplexed, —* 

If thou couldst see them right, 

I think that they would seem all 

clear, and wise, and bright. 

And yet thou canst not know, 
And yet thou canst not see ; 
Wisdom and sight are slow 

In poor humanity. 
If thou couldst trusty poor soul, 
In Him who rules the whole. 
Thou wouldst find peace and 
rest : 
Wisdom and sight are well, but 
Trust is best. 



THE WARRIOR TO HIS 
DEAD BRIDE. 

If in the fight my arm was strong, 
And forced my foes to yield, — • 

If conquering and unhurt I came 
Back from the battle-field, — 

It is because thy prayers have 
been 
My safeguard and my shield. 



160 



A LETTER. 



My comrades smile to see my arm 
Spare or protect a foe, 

They think thy gentle pleading 
voice 
Was silenced long ago ; 

But pity and compassion, love, 
Were taught me first by woe. 

Thy heart, my own, still beats 
in Heaven 
With the same love divine 
That made thee stoop to such a 
soul, 
So hard, so stern as mine, — 
My eyes have learnt to weep, be- 
loved, 
Since last they looked on thine 

I hear thee murmur words of 
peace 
Through the dim midnight air. 
And a calm falls from the angel 
stars 
And soothes my great de- 
spair, — 
The heavens themselves look 
brighter, love, 
Since thy sweet soul is there. 

And if my heart is once more 
calm. 
My step is once more free. 
It is because each hour I feel 
Thou prayest still for me ; 
Because no fate or change can 
come 
Between my soul and thee. 

It is because my heart is stilled. 
Not broken by despair, 



Because I see the grave is bright, 
And death itself is fair : — 

I dread no more the wrath of 
Heaven, — 
I have an angel there ! 



A LETTER. 

Dear, I tried to write you such 

a letter 
As would tell you all my heart 

to-day. 
Written Love is poor ; one word 

were better ; 
Easier, too, a thousand times, to 

say. 

I can tell you all : fears, doubts 

unheeding, 
While I can be near you, hold 

your hand. 
Looking right into your eyes, 

and reading 
Reassurance that you understand. 

Yet I wrote it through, then 

lingered, thinking 
Of its reaching you, — what hour, 

what day ; 
Till I felt my heart and courage^ 

sinking 
With a strange, new, wondering 

dismay. 

" Will my letter fall," I wondered 
sadly, 

" On her mood like some dis- 
cordant tone, 



A LETTER, 



161 



Or be welcomed tenderly and 

gladly? 
Will she be with others, or alone ? 

" It may find her too absorbed to 

read it, 
Save with hurried glance and 

careless air : 
Sad and weary, she may scarcely 

heed it ; 
Gay and happy, she may hardly 

care. 

« Shall I — dare I — risk the 

chances'?" slowly 
Something — was it shyness, 

love, or pride 1 — 
Chilled my heart, and checked 

my courage wholly ; 
So I laid it wistfully aside. 

Then I leant against the case- 
ment, turning 

Tearful eyes towards the far-off 
west, 

Where the golden evening light 
was burning. 

Till my heart throbbed back 
again to rest. 

And I thought : " Love's soul is 

not in fetters. 
Neither space nor time keeps 

souls apart ; 
Since I cannot — dare not — 

send my letters, 
Through the silence I will send 

my heart. 



" If, perhaps now, while my 

tears are falling, 
She is dreaming quietly alone. 
She will hear my Love's far echo 

calling. 
Feel my spirit drawing near her 

own. 

" She will hear, while twilight 

shades enfold, her. 
All the gathered Love she knows 

so well, — 
Deepest Love my words have 

ever told her, 
Deeper still — all I could never 

tell. 

" Wondering at the strange, 

mysterious power 
That has touched her heart, then 

she will say : 
^Some one whom I love, this 

very hour, 
Thinks of me, and loves me, far 

away.' 

" If, as well may be, to-night 
has found her 

Full of other thoughts, with 
others by. 

Through the words and claims 
that gather round her 

She will hear just one half- 
smothered sigh ; 

" Or will marvel why, without 
her seeking. 

Suddenly the thought of me re- 
curs; 



162 



A COMFORTER, 



Or, while listening to another 

speaking, 
Fancy that my hand is holding 

hers." 

So I dreamed, and watched the 
stars' far splendor 

Glimmering on the azure dark- 
ness, start, — 

While the star of trust rose bright 
and tender. 

Through the twilight shadows of 
my heart. 



A COMFORTER. 



" Will she come to me, little 
Effie, 
Will she come in my arms to 
rest, 
And nestle her head on my 
shoulder, 
While the sun goes down in 
the wesf? 

II. 

" I and Effie will sit together, 
All alone, in this great arm- 
chair : — 

Is it silly to mind it, darling. 
When Life is so hard to bear 1 



" No one comforts me like my 
Effie, 
Just I think that she does not 
try, — 



Only looks with a wistful won- 
der 
Why grown people should 
ever cry ; 

IV. 

*' While her little soft arms close 
tighter - 

Round my neck in their cling- 
ing hold : — 
Well, I must not cry on your 
hair, dear, 
For my tears might tarnish 
the gold. 



" I am tired of trying to read, 
dear; 
It is worse to talk and seem 
gay: 
There are some kinds of sorrow, 
Effie, 
It is useless to thrust away. 



VI. 

" Ah, advice may be wise, my 
darling, 
But one always knows it be- 
fore; 
And the reasoning down one's 
sorrow 
Seems to make one suffer the 
more. 



"But my Effie won't reason, 
will she ? 
Or endeavor to understand ; 



A COMFORTER. 



163 



Only holds up her mouth to kiss 
me, 
As she strokes my face with 
her hand. 



"If you break your plaything 
yourself, dear, 
Don't you cry for it all the 
same? 
I don't think it is such a com- 
fort. 
One has only one's self to 
blame. 



** People say things cannot be 
helped, dear. 
But then that is the reason 
why ; 
For if things could be helped or 
altered. 
One would never sit down to 
cry: 



*'They say, too, that tears are 
quite useless 
To undo, amend, or restore, — 
When I think how useless, my 
Effie, 
Then my tears only fall the 
more. 

XI. 

♦ 

» All to-day I struggled against 
it; 
But that does not make sor- 
row cease : 



And now, dear, it is such a 
comfort 
To be able to cry in peace. 



" Though wise people would call 
that folly. 

And remonstrate with grave sur- 
prise ; 

We won't mind what they say, 
my Effie;— - 
We never professed to be wise. 



" But my comforter knows a 
lesson 
Wiser, truer than all the 
rest : — 
That to help and to heal a sor- 
row. 
Love and silence are always 
best. 



" Well, who is my comforter, — 
tell me ? 
Effie smiles, but she will not 
speak : 
Or look up through the long 
curled lashes 
That are shading her rosy 
cheek. 



" Is she thinking of talking fishes, 
The bluebird, or magical tree *? 



164 



UNSEEN. 



Perhaps I am thinking, my dar- 
ling, 
Of something that never can be. 



" You long — don't you, dear ? 
— for the Genii, 
Who were slaves of lamps and 
of rings ; 
And, I — I am sometimes afraid, 
dear, 
I want as impossible things. 

XVII. 

" But hark ! there is Nurse call- 
ing Effie ! 
It is bedtime, so run away ; 
And I must go back, or the 
others 
Will be wondering why I stay. 

XVIII. 

" So good night to my darling 
Effie; 
Keep happy, sweetheart, and 
grow wise : — 
There 's one kiss for her golden 
tresses. 
And two for her sleepy eyes." 



UNSEEN. 

There are more things in 
Heaven and Earth than we 

Can dream of, or than nature 
understands ; 



We learn not through our poor 

philosophy 
What hidden chords are touched 

by unseen hands. 

The present hour repeats upon 

its strings 
Echoes of some vague dream we 

have forgot ; 
Dim voices whisper half-remei# 

bered things. 
And when we pause to listen — 

answer not. 

Forebodings come : we know not 

how, or whence. 
Shadowing a nameless fear upon 

the soul. 
And stir within our hearts a 

subtler sense 
Than light may read, or wisdom 

may control. 

And who can tell what secret 

links of thought 
Bind heart to heart ? Unspoken 

things are heard. 
As if within our deepest selves 

was brought 
The soul, perhaps, of some un- 

uttered word. 

But, though a veil of shadow 

hangs between 
That hidden life and what we see 

and hear. 
Let us revere the power of the 

Unseen, 
And know a world of mystery is 

near. 



THREE EVENINGS IN A LIFE. 



165 



REMEMBRANCE 
AUTUMN. 



OF 



Nothing stirs the sunny si- 
lence, — 
Save the drowsy humming of 
the bees 
Round the rich ripe peaches 
on the wall, 
And the south-wind sighing 
in the trees, 
And the dead leaves rustling 
as they fall : 
While the swallows, one by 
one, are gathering, 
All impatient to be on the 
wing. 
And to wander from us, seek- 
ing 

Their beloved Spring ! 

Cloudless rise the azure heavens ! 
Only vaporous wreaths of 
snowy white 
Nestle in the gray hill's 
rugged side; 
And the golden woods are 
bathed in light, 
Dying, if they must, with 
kingly pride : 
While the swallows, in the 
blue air wheeling. 
Circle now an eager, flutter- 
ing band, 
Ready to depart and leave us 
For a brighter land ! 

But a voice is sounding sadly, 
Telliag of a glory that has 
been; 



Of a day that faded all too 
fast : — 
See afar through the blue air 
serene. 
Where the swallows wing 
their way at last, 
And our hearts perchance as 
sadly wandering. 
Vainly seeking for a long- 
lost day. 
While we watch the far-off 
swallows. 

Flee with them away ! 



THREE EVENINGS IN A 
LIFE. 



Yes, it looked dark and dreary. 

That long and narrow street : 
Only the sound of the rain, 

And the tramp of passing feet, 
The duller glow of the fire, 

And gathering mists of nioht, 
To mark how slow and weary 

The long day^s cheerless 
flight i 



Watching the sullen fire, 
Hearing the dismnl rain, 

Drop after drop, run down 
On the darkening window 
pane : 

Chill was the heart of Alice, 
Chill as that winter day, — • 



166 



THREE EVENINGS IN A LIFE. 



For the star of her life had risen 
Only to fade away. 



The voice that had been so 
strong 
To bid the snare depart, 
The true and earnest will, 

The calm and steadfast heart, 
Were now weighed down by sor- 
row, 
Were quivering now with 
pain; 
The clear path now seemed 
clouded. 
And all her grief in vain. 



Duty, Right, Truth, who prom- 
ised 
To help and save their own, 
Seemed spreading wide their pin- 
ions 
To leave her there alone. 
So, turning from the Present 

To well-known days of yore. 
She called on them to strengthen 
And guard her soul once 
more. 

V. 

She thought how in her girlhood 

Her life was given away. 
The solemn promise spoken 

She kept so well to-day; 
How to her brother Herbert 

She had been help and guide. 
And how his artist nature 

On her calm strength relied. 



How through life's fret and tur- 
moil 
The passion and fire of art 
In him was soothed and quick- 
ened 
By her true sister heart ; 
How future hopes had always 

Been for his sake alone ; 
And now — what strange new 
feeling 
Possessed her as its own ? 



Her home — each flower that 
breathed there. 

The wind's sigh, soft and low, 
Each trembling spray of ivy, 

The river's murmuring flow. 
The shadow of the forest, 

Sunset, or twilight dim, — 
Dear as they were, were dearer 

By leaving them for him. 



And each year as it found her 

In the dull, feverish town, 
Saw self still more forgotten, 

And selfish care kept down 
By the calm joy of evening 

That brought him to her side, 
To warn him with wise counsel. 

Or praise with tender pride. 



Her heart, her life, her future. 
Her genius, only meant 

Another thing to give him. 
And be therewith content. 



THREE EVENINGS IN A LIFE. 



167 



To-day, what words had stirred 
her, 

Her soul could not forget ? 
What dream had filled her spirit 

With strange and wild regret "? 



To leave him for another, — 

Could it indeed be so ? 
Could it have cost such anguish 

To bid this vision go ? 
Was this her faith ? Was Her- 
bert 

The second in her heart ? 
Did it need all this struggle 

To bid a dream depart ? 



And yet, within her spirit 

A far-off land was seen, 
A home, which might have held 
her, 

A love, which might have 
been. 
And Life — not the mere being 

Of daily ebb and flow. 
But Life itself — had claimed her, 

And she had let it go ! 



Within her heart there echoed 

Again the well-known tone 
That promised this bright future, 

And asked her for her own : 
Then words of sorrow, broken 

By half-reproachful pain : 
And then a farewell, spoken 

In words of cold disdain. 



Where now was the stern pur- 
pose 
That nerved her soul so long ? 
Whence came the words she 
uttered. 
So hard, so cold, so strong? 
What right had she to banish 

A hope that God had given ? 
Why must she choose earth^s 
portion. 
And turn aside from Heaven ? 



To-day ! Was it this morning "^ 

If this long, fearful strife 
Was but the work of hours. 

What would be years of life ? 
Why did a cruel Heaven 

For such great suffering call ? 
And why — O still more cruel ! — 

Must her own words do all ? 



Did she repent ? Sorrow ! 

Why do we linger still 
To take thy loving message. 

And do thy gentle will ? 
See, her tears fall more slowly. 

The passionate murmurs cease, 
And back upon her spirit 

Flow strength, and love, and 
peace. 



The fire burns more brightly. 
The rain has passed away, 

Herbert will see no shadow 
Upon his home to-day : 



168 



THREE EVENINGS IN A LIFE. 



Only that Alice greets him 
With doubly tender care, 

Kissing a fonder blessing 
Down on his golden hair. 



II. 



The Studio is deserted, 

Palette and brush laid by, 
The sketch rests on the easel, 

The paint is scarcely dry ; 
And Silence — who seems always 

Within her depths to bear 
The next sound that will utter — 

Now holds a dumb despair. 



So Alice feels it : listening 

With breathless, stony fear, 
Waiting the dreadful summons 

Each minute brings more 
near : 
When the young life, now ebb- 
ing, 

Shall fail, and pass away 
Into that mighty shadow 

Who shrouds the house to-day. 



But why — when the sick-cham- 
ber 

Is on the upper floor — 
Why dares not Alice enter 

VVithin the close-shut door ? 
If he — her all — her Brother, 

Lies dying in that gloom, 



What strange mysterious power 
Has sent her from the room ? 



It is not one week's anguish 

That can have changed her so ; 
Joy has not died here lately. 

Struck down by one quick 
blow; 
But cruel months have needed 

Their long relentless chain. 
To teach that shrinking manner 

Of helpless, hopeless pain. 



The struggle was scarce over 

Last Christmas eve had 
brought ; 
The fibres still were quivering 

Of the one wounded thought. 
When Herbert — who, uncon- 
scious, 

Had guessed no inward strife — 
Bade her, in pride and pleasure, 

Welcome his fair young wife. 



Bade her rejoice, and smiling, 
Although his eyes were dim, 
Thanked God he thus could pay 
her 
The care she gave to him. 
This fresh bright life would bring 
her 
A new and joyous fate — 
Alice, check the murmur 
That cries, " Too late ! ton 
late ! " 



THREE EVENINGS IN A LIFE, 



169 



VII. 

Too late! Could she have 
known it 

A few short weeks before, 
That his life was completed, 

And needing hers no more. 
She might — sad repining ! 

What *' might have been " for- 
get; 
" It was not " should suffice us 

To stifle vain regret. 



He needed her no longer, 

Each day it grew more plain ; 
First with a startled wonder, 

Then with a wondering pain. 
Love : why, his wife best gave it ; 

Comfort : durst Alice speak 
Or counsel, when resentment 

Flushed on the young wife^s 
cheek ? 



No more long talks by firelight 

Of childish times long past, 
And dreams of future greatness 

Which he must reach at last ; 
Dreams, where her purer instinct 

With truth unerring told, 
Where was the worthless gilding. 

And where refined gold. 



Slowly, but surely ever, 
Dora's poor jealous pride. 

Which she called love for Her- 
bert, 
Drove Alice from his side ; 



And, spite of nervous effort 
To share their altered life, 

She felt a check to Herbert, 
A burden to his wife. 



This was the least ; for Alice 

Feared, dreaded, ^new; at length 
How much his nature owed her 

Of truth, and power, and 
strength ; 
And watched the daily failing , 

Of all his nobler part : 
Low aims, weak purpose, telling 

Li lower, weaker art. 



And now, when he is dying, 

The last words she could hear 
Must not be hers, but given 

The bride of one short year. 
The last care is another's ; 

The last prayer must not be 
The one they learnt together 

Beside their mother's knee, 

XIII. 

Summoned at last : she kisses 

The clay-cold stiffening ban a . 
And, reading pleading efforts 

To make her understand, 
Answers, with solemn promise. 

In clear but trembling tone, 
To Dora's life henceforward 

She will devote her own. 

XIV. 

Now all is over. Alice 
Dares not remain to weep. 



170 



THREE EVENINGS IN A LIFE, 



But soothes the frightened Dora 

Into a sobbing sleep. 
The poor weak child will need 
her : . . . 

O, who can dare complain, 
When God sends a new Duty 

To comfort each new Pain ! 



III. 
I. 



The House is all deserted 

In the dim evening gloom. 
Only one figure passes 

Slowly from room to room ; 
And, pausing at each doorway, 

Seems gathering up again 
Within her heart the relics 

Of bygone joy and pain. 



There is an earnest longing 

In those who onward gaze, 
Looking with weary patience 

Towards the coming days. 
There is a deeper longing, 

More sad, more strong, more 
keen : 
Those know it who look back- 
ward, 

And yearn for what has been. 

III. 

At every hearth she pauses, 
Touches each well - known 
chair ; 

Gazes from every window, 
Lingers on every stair. 



What have these months brought 
Alice 

Now one more year is past ? 
This Christmas eve shall tell us, 

The third one and the last. 



The wilful, wayward Dora, 

In those first weeks of grief, 
Could seek and find in Alice 

Strength, soothing, and relief. 
And Alice — last sad comfort 

True woman-heart can take — 
Had something still to suff'er 

And bear for Herbert's sake. 



Spring, with her western breezes, 

From Indian islands bore 
To Alice news that Leonard 
Would seek his home once 
more. 
What was it, — joy, or sorrow? 
What were they, — hopes, or 
fears ? 
That flushed her cheeks with 
crimson, 
And filled her eyes with tears ? 

VI. 

He came. And who so kindly 
Could ask and hear her tell 
Herbert's last hours ; for Leon- 
ard 
Had known and loved him 
well. 
Daily he came ; and Alice, 
Poor weary heart, at lengt.'i. 



THREE EVENINGS IN A LIFE, 



171 



Weighed down by others' weak- 
ness, 
Could lean upon his strength. 



Yet not the voice of Leonard 

Could her true care beguile, 
That turned to watch, rejoicing, 

Dora's reviving smile. 
-.So, from that little household 
- The worst gloom passed away, 
The one bright hour of evening 
Lit up the livelong day. 

VIII. 

Days passed. The golden sum- 
mer 

In sudden heat bore down 
Its blue, bright, glowing sweet- 
ness 

Upon the scorching town. 
And sights and sounds of country 

Came in the warm soft tune 
Sung by the honeyed breezes 

Borne on the wings of June. 



One twilight hour, but earlier 
Than usual, Alice thought 
She knew the fresh sweet fra- 
grance 
Of flowers that Leonard 
brought ; 
Through opened doors and win- 
dows 
It stole up through the gloom. 
And with appealing sweetness 
Drew Alice from her room. 



Yes, he was there ; and, pausing 

Just near the opened door. 
To check her heart's quick beat- 
ing, 
She heard — and paused still 
more — 
His low voice — Dora's an- 
swers — 
His pleading — Yes, she knew 
The tone — the words — the ac- 
cents ; 
She once had heard them too. 



" Would Alice blame her ? " 
Leonard's 
Low, tender answer came : 
" Alice was far too noble 

To think or dream of blame." 
"And was he sure he loved 
her ? " 
" Yes, with the one love given 
Once in a lifetime only, 

With one soul and one heav- 
en!" 



Then came a plaintive mur- 
mur, — 

" Dora had once been told 
That he and Alice — " "Dear- 
est, 

Alice is far too cold 
To love ; and I, my Dora, 

If once I fancied so. 
It was a brief delusion. 

And over — long ago." 



172 



THE WIND, 



Between the Past and Present, 

On that bleak moment's height, 
She stood. As some lost trav- 
eller, 

By a quick flash of light 
Seeing a gulf before him, 

With dizzy, sick despair, 
Heels backward, but to find it 

A deeper chasm there. 



The twilight grew still darker, 
The fragrant flowers more 
sweet. 
The stars shone out in heaven. 
The lamps gleamed down the 
street ; 
And hours passed in dreaming 

Over their new-found fate, 
Ere they could think of wonder- 
ing 
Why Alice was so late. 



She came, and calmly listened ; 

In vain they strove to trace 
If Herbert's memory shadowed 

In grief upon her face. 
No blame, no wonder showed 
there. 

No feeling could be told ; 
Her voice was not less steady, 

Her manner not more cold. 

XVI. 

They could not hear the anguish 
That broke in words of pain 



Through the calm summer mid- 
night, — 
" My Herbert — mine again ! " 
Yes, they have once been parted, 

But this day shall restore 
The long-lost one: she claims 
him ; 
'' My Herbert — mine once 
more ! " 

XVII. 

Now Christmas eve returning 

Saw Alice stand beside 
The altar, greeting Dora, 

Again a smiling bride ; 
And now the gloomy evening 

Sees Alice pale and worn. 
Leaving the house forever. 

To wander out forlorn. 



Forlorn — nay, not so. Anguish 

Shall do its work at length ; 
Her soul, passed through the fire. 

Shall gain still purer strength.^ 
Somewhere there waits for Alice 

An earnest, noble part ; 
And meanwhile God is with 
her, — 

God, and her own true heart \ 



THE WIND. 

The wind went forth o'er land 
and sea, 
Loud and free ; 



EXPECTATION. 



173 



Foaming waves leapt up to 

meet it, 
Stately pines bowed down to 
greet it ; 
While the wailing sea 
And the forest's murmured sigh 
Joined the cry 
Of the wind that swept o'er land 
and sea. 



The wind that blew upon the sea 
Fierce and free, 
Cast the bark upon the shore, 
Whence it sailed the night be- 
fore 
Full of hope and glee ; 
And the cry of pain and death 
Was but a breath, 
Through the wind that roared 
upon the sea. 

The wind was whispering on the 
lea 
Tenderly ; 
But the white rose felt it pass, 
And the fragile stalks of grass 

Shook with fear to see 
All her trembling petals shed. 
As it fled 
So gently by, — the wind upon 
the lea. 

Blow, thou wind, upon the sea 
Fierce and free. 
And a gentler message send. 
Where frail flowers and grasses 
bend. 
On the sunny lea ; 



For thy bidding still is one, 
Be it done 
In tenderness or wrath, on land 
or sea ! 



EXPECTATION. 

The King's three daughters 

stood on the terrace. 
The hanging terrace, so broad 

and green, 
Which keeps the sea from the 

marble Palace : 
There was Princess May, and 

Princess Alice, 
And the youngest Princess, 
Gwendoline. 

Sighed Princess May, " Will it 

last much longer, 
Time throbs so slow and my 

Heart so quick ; 
And O, how long is the day in 

dying ! 
Weary am I of waiting and 

sighing, 
For Hope deferred makes the 

spirit sick." 

But Princess Gwendoline smiled 

and kissed her : — 
'* Am I not sadder than you, my 

Sister ? 
Expecting joy is a happy pain. 
The Future's fathomless mine of 

treasures, 



174 



AN IDEAL. 



All countless hordes of possible 

pleasures, 
Might bring their store to my 

feet in vain." 

Sighed Princess Alice as night 

grew nearer : — 
" So soon, so soon, is the day- 

Hght fled ! 
And O, how fast comes the dark 

to-morrow, 
Who hides, perhaps, in her veil 

of sorrow 
The terrible hour I wait and 

dread ! " 

But Princess Gwendoline kissed 

her, sighing : — 
" It is only Life that can fear 

dying ; 
Possible loss means possible gain. 
Those who still dread are not 

quite forsaken ; 
But not to fear, because all is 

taken. 
Is the loneliest depth of human 

pain." 



AN IDEAL. 

While the gray mists of early 
dawn 
Were lingering round the hill. 
And the dew was still upon the 
flowers, 
And the earth lay calm and 
still. 



A winged Spirit came to me, 
Noble, and radiant, and free. 

Folding his blue and shining 
wings. 
He laid his hand on mine. 
I know not if I felt, or heard 

The mystic word divine, 
Which woke the trembling air 

to sighs, 
And shone from out his starry 
eyes. 

The word he spoke within m) 
heart 
Stirred life unknown before. 
And cast a spell upon my soul 

To chain it evermore ; 
Making the cold, dull earth look 

bright. 
And skies flame out in sapphire 
light. 

When noon ruled from the heav- 
ens, and man 
Through busy day toiled on. 

My Spirit drooped his shining 
wings ; 
His radiant smile was gone ; 

His voice had ceased, his grace 
had flown. 

His hand grew cold within my 
own. 

Bitter, bitter tears I wept, 
Yet still I held his hand. 

Hoping with vague unreasoning 
hope : 
I would not understand 



OUR DEAD. 



175 



That this pale Spirit nevermore 
Could be what he had been before. 

Could it be so ? My heart stood 
still. 
Yet he was by my side. 
I strove ; but my despair was 
vain ; 
Vain too was love and pride. 
Could he have changed to me 

so soon ? 
My day was only at its noon. 

Now stars are rising one by one, 

Through the dim evening air ; 

Near me a household Spirit waits, 

With tender loving care ; 
He speaks and smiles, but never 

sings, 
Long since he lost his shining 
wings. 

With thankful, true content, I 
know 
This is the better way ; 
Is not a faithful spirit mine — 
Mine still — at close of 
day ? . . . 
Yet will my foolish heart repine 
For that bright morning dream 
of mine. 



OUR DEAD. 

Nothing is our own : we hold 

our pleasures 
Just a little while, ere they are 

fled: 



One by one life robs us of our 

treasures ; 
Nothing is our own except our 

Dead. 

They are ours, and hold in faith- 
ful keeping. 

Safe forever, all they took away. 

Cruel life can never stir that 
sleeping. 

Cruel time can never seize that 
prey. 

Justice pales ; truth fades ; stars 

fall from heaven ; 
Human are the great whom we 

revere : 
No true crown of honor can be 

given, 
Till we place it on a funeral bier. 

How the Children leave us : and 

no traces 
Linger of that smiling angel 

band; 
Gone, forever gone ; and in their 

their places 
Weary men and anxious women 

stand. 

Yet we have some little ones, 

still ours ; 
They have kept the baby smile 

we know, 
Which we kissed one day, and 

hid with flowers, 
On their dead white faces, long 

ago. 



176 



A WOMAN'S ANSWER. 



When our Joy is lost — and life 

will take it — 
Then no memory of the past 

remains ; 
Save with some strange, cruel 

sting, to make it 
Bitterness beyond all present 

pains. 

Death, more tender - hearted, 

leaves to sorrow 
Still the radiant shadow, fond 

regret : 
We shall find, in some far, bright 

to-morrow, 
Joy that he has taken, living yet. 

Is Love ours, and do we dream 
we know it. 

Bound with all our heart-strings, 
all our own ? 

Any cold and cruel dawn may 
show it, 

Shattered, desecrated, over- 
thrown. 

Only the dead Hearts forsake us 
never ; 

Death^s last kiss has been the 
mystic sign 

Consecrating Love our own for- 
ever. 

Crowning it eternal and divine. 

So when Fate would fain besiege 

our city, 
Dim our gold, or make our 

flowers fall. 



Death, the Angel, comes in love 

and pity, 
And, to save our treasures, claims 

them all. 



A WOMAN'S ANSWER. 

I WILL not let you say a Wo- ' 
man's part 
Must be to give exclusive love 
alone ; 
Dearest, although I love you so, 
my heart 
Answers a thousand claims 
besides your own. 



I love — what do I not love? 
earth and air 
Find space within my heart, 
and myriad things 
You would not deign to heed are 
cherished there, 
And vibrate on its very in- 
most strings. 



I love the Summer with her ebb 
and flow 
Of light, and warmth, and 
music, that have nurst 
Her tender buds to blossoms . . . 
and you know 
It was in summer that I saw 
you first. 



A WOMAN'S ANSWER. 



177 



I love the Winter dearly, too, . . . 
but then 
I owe it so much ; on a win- 
ter's day, 
Bleak, cold, and stormy, you re- 
turned again, 
When you had been those 
weary months away. 

I love the Stars like friends ; so 
many nights 
I gazed at them, when you 
were far from me. 
Till I grew blind with tears .... 
those far-off lights 
Could watch you, whom I 
longed in vain to see. 

I love the Flowers ; happy hours 
lie 
Shut up within their petals 
close and fast : 
You have forgotten, dear; but 
they and I 
Keep every fragment of the 
golden Past. 

I love, too, to be loved ; all lov- 
ing praise 
Seems like a crown upon my 
Life, — to make 
It better worth the giving, and 
to raise 
Still nearer to your own the 
heart you take. 

I love all good and noble souls ; 
— I heard 
One speak of you but lately, 
and for days. 



Only to think of it, my soul was 
stirred 
In tender memory of such 
generous praise. 

I love all those who love you; 
all who owe 
Comfort to you: and I can 
find regret 
Even for those poorer hearts 
who once could know 
And once could love you, and 
can now forget. 

Well, is my heart so narrow, — 
I, who spare 
Love for all these 1 Do I not 
even hold 
My favorite books in special ten- 
der care, 
And prize them as a miser 
does his gold ? 

The Poets that you used to read 
to me 
While summer twilights faded 
in the sky ; 
But most of all I think Aurora 
Leigh, 
Because — because — do you 
remember why ? 

Will you be jealous ? Did you 
guess before 
I loved so many things ? — 
Still you the best : — 
Dearest, remember that I love 
you more, 
O, more a thousand times, 
than all the rest ! 



178 



THE STORY OF THE FAITHFUL SOUL. 



THE STORY OF THE 
FAITHFUL SOUL. 

FOUNDED ON AN OLD FRENCH 
LEGEND. 

The fettered Spirits linger 

In purgatorial pain, 
With penal fires effacing 

Their last faint earthly stain, 
Which Life's imperfect sorrow 

Had tried to cleanse in vain. 

Yet, on each feast of Mary" 
Their sorrow finds release. 
For the Great Archangel Mi- 
chael 
Comes down and bids it cease ; 
And the name of these brief 
respites 
Is called " Our Lady's Peace." 

Yet once — so runs the Legend — 
When the Archangel came. 

And all these holy spirits 
Rejoiced at Mary's name, 

One voice alone was wailing, 
Still wailing on the same. 

And though a great Te Deum 
The happy echoes woke. 

This one discordant wailing 
Through the sweet voices 
broke : 

So when St. Michael questioned. 
Thus the poor spirit spoke : — 

« I am not cold or thankless, 
Although I still complain ; 

I prize our Lady's blessing. 
Although it comes in vaiq 



To still my bitter anguish. 
Or quench my ceaseless pain. 

" On earth a heart that loved me 
Still lives and mourns me 
there, 

And the shadow of his anguish 
Is more than I can bear ; 

All the torment that I suffer 
Is the thought of his despair. 

" The evening of my bridal 
Death took my Life away ; 

Not all Love's passionate plead- 
ing 
Could gain an hour's delay. 

And he I left has suffered 
A whole year since that day. 

" If I could only see him, — 

If I could only go 
And speak one word of comfort 

And solace, — then I know 
He would endure with patience. 

And strive against his woe." 

Thus the Archangel answered : — 
" Your time of pain is brief. 

And soon the peace of Heaven 
Will give you full relief; 

Yet if his earthly comfort 

So much outweighs your grief, 

" Then through a special mercy 
I offer you this grace, — 

You may seek him who mourni 
you. 
And look upon his face, 

And speak to him of comfort 
For one short minute's space. 



A CON TEAS T, 



179 



'' But when that time is ended, 
Return here, and remain 

A thousand years in torment, 
A thousand years in pain : 

Thus dearly must you purchase 
The comfort he will gain." 

* * * * 

The Lime-trees' shade at evening 
Is spreading broad and wide ; 

Beneath their fragrant arches, 
Pace slowly, side by side, 

In low and tender converse, 
A Bridegroom and his Bride. 

The night is calm and stilly. 

No other sound is there 
Except their happy voices : 

What is that cold bleak air 
That passes through the Lime- 
trees, 
And stirs the Bridegroom's 
hair? 



While one low cry of anguish. 
Like the last dying wail 

Of some dumb, hunted creature. 
Is borne upon the gale : — 

Why does the Bridegroom shud- 
der 
And turn so deathly pale ? 



Near Purgatory's entrance 
The radiant Angels wait ; 

It was the great St. Michael 
Who closed that gloomy gate. 

When the poor wandering spirit 
Came back to meet her fate. 



" Pass on," thus spoke the An- 
gel: 
" Heaven's joy is deep and 
vast ; 
Pass on, pass on, poor Spirit, 

For Heaven is yours at last ; 
In that one minute's anguish 
Your thousand years have 
passed." 



A CONTRAST. 

Can you open that ebony Cas- 
ket? 
Look, this is the key : but stay. 
Those are only a few old letters 
Which I keep, — to burn some 
day. 

Yes, that Locket is quaint and 
ancient ; 
But leave it, dear, with the ring. 
And give me the little Portrait 
Which hangs by a crimson 
string. 

I have never opened that Casket ^ 
Since, many long years ago, 

It was sent me back in anger 
By one whom I used to know. 

But I want you to see the Por- 
trait : 

I wonder if you can trace 
A look of that smiUng creature 

Left now in my faded face. 



180 



A CONTRAST, 



It was like me once; but re- 
member 
The weary, relentless years, 
And Life, with its fierce brief 
tempests, 
And its long, long rain of 
tears. 

Is it strange to call it my Por- 
trait ? 
Nay, smile, dear, for well you 
may. 
To think of that radiant Vision 
And of what I am to-day. 

With restless, yet confident long- 
ing, 
How those blue eyes seem to 
gaze 
Into deep and exhaustless treas- 
ures, 
All hid in the coming days. 

With that trust which leans on 
the Future, 
And counts on her promised 
store. 
Until she has taught us to 
tremble 
And hope, — but to trust no 
more. 

How that young, light heart 
would have pitied 
Me now — if her dreams had 
shown 
A quiet and weary woman 
With all her illusions flown. 



Yet I — who shall soon be rest- 
ing, 
And have passed the hardest 
part — 

Can look back with a deeper 

pity 

On that young, unconscious 
heart. 



It is strange ; but Life's currents 
drift us 
So surely and swiftly on, 
That we scarcely notice the 
changes, 
And how many things are 
gone : 

And forget, while to-day absorbs 
us. 
How old mysteries are un- 
sealed ; 
How the old, old ties are loosened, 
And the old, old wounds are 
healed. 



And we say that our Life is fleet- 
ing 
Like a story that Time has 
told; 
But we fancy that we — we 
only — 
Are just what we were of old. 



So now and then it is wisdom 
To gaze, as I do to-day. 

At a half-forgotten relic 

Of a Time that is passed away. 



THE BRIDES DREAM. 



181 



The very look of that Portrait, 
The perfume that seems to 
cling 
To those fragile and faded let- 
ters, 
And the Locket, and the Ring, 

If they only stirred in my spirit 
Forgotten pleasure and pain, — 

Why, memory is often bitter. 
And almost always in vain ; 

But the contrast of bygone hours 
Comes to rend -a veil away, — 

And I marvel to see the stranger 
Who is living in me to-day. 



THE BRIDE'S DREAM. 

The stars are gleaming ; 

The maiden sleeps, — 
What is she dreaming ? 

For see — she weeps. 
By her side is an Angel 

With folded wings ; 
While the Maiden slumbers, 
•^ . The Angel sings : 
He sings of a Bridal, 

Of Love, of Pain, 
Of a heart to be given, — 

And all in vain ; 
(See, her cheek is flushing, 

As if with pain;) 
He telleth of sorrow. 

Regrets and fears. 
And the few vain pleasures 

We buy with tears ; 



And the bitter lesson 
We learn from years. 

The stars are gleaming 

Upon her brow • 
What is she dreaming 

So calmly now % 
By her side is the Angel 

With folded wings; 
She smiles in her slumber 

The while he sings. 
He sings of a Bridal, 

Of Love divine ; 
Of a heart to be laid 

On a sacred shrine ; 
Of a crown of glory. 

Where seraphs shine; 
Of the deep, long rapture 

The chosen know 
Who forsake for Heaven 

Vain joys below. 
Who desire no pleasure, 

And fear no woe. 

The Bells are ringing. 

The sun shines clear, 
The Choir is singing, 

The guests are here. 
Before the High Altar 

Behold the Bride ; 
And a mournful Angel 

Is by her side. 
She smiles, all content 

With her chosen lot, — 
(Is her last night^s dreaming 

So soon forgot '?) 
And oh, may the Angel 

Forsake her not ! 
For on her small hand 

There glitters plain 



182 



THE ANGEVS BIDDING. 



The first sad link 

Of a life-long chain ; — 
And she needs his guiding 

Through paths of pain. 



THE ANGEL'S BIDDING. 

Not a sound is heard in the 
Convent ; 
The Vesper Chant is sung, 
The sick have all been tended, 
The poor nun's toils are ended 
Till the Matin bell has rung. 
All is still, save the Clock, that 

is ticking 
So loud in the frosty air, 
And the soft snow, falling as 

gently 
As an answer to a prayer. 

But an Angel whispers, 

" O Sister, 
You must rise from your 

bed to pray ; 
In the silent, deserted chapel. 
You must kneel till the 

dawn of day ; 
For, far on the desolate 

moorland. 
So dreary, and bleak, and 

white. 
There is one, all alone and 

helpless. 
In peril of death to-night. 

" No sound on the moorland to 
guide him, 
No star in the murky air ; 



And he thinks of his home and 
his loved ones 
With the tenderness of de- 
spair ; 
He has wandered for hours in 
the snow-drift. 
And he strives to stand in 
vain. 
And so lies down to dream of 
his children. 
And never to rise again. 
Then kneel in the silent 

chapel 
Till the dawn of to-mor- 
row's sun. 
And ask of the Lord you 

worship 
For the life of that desolate 

one ; 
And the smiHng eyes of his 

children 
Will gladden his heart 

again. 
And the grateful tears of 

God's poor ones 
Will fall on your soul like 
rain! 



*^ Yet, leave him alone to perish. 
And the grace of your God 
implore. 
With all the strength of your 
spirit. 
For one who needs it more. 
Far away, in the gleaming city. 
Amid perfume, and song, and 
light, 
A soul that Jesus has ransomed 
Is in peril of sin to-night. 



SPRING. 



183 



<< The Tempter is close beside him, 

And his danger is all forgot, 
And the far-off voices of child- 
hood 
Call aloud, but he hears them 
not; 
He sayeth no prayer, and his 
mother — 
He thinks not of her to-day, 
And he will not look up to 
heaven. 
And his Angel is turning 
away. 

" Then pray for a soul in peril, 
A soul for which Jesus died ; 
Ask, by the cross that bore Him, 
And by her who stood beside ; 
And the Angels of God will 
thank you. 
And bend from their thrones 
of light. 
To tell you that Heaven rejoices 
At the deed you have done to- 
night/' 



SPRING. 

Hark ! the hours are softly call- 
ing, 
Bidding Spring arise, 
To listen to the rain-drops falling 

From the cloudy skies. 
To listen to Earth's weary 
voices, 
Louder every day, 



Bidding her no longer linger 

On her charmed way ; 
But hasten to her task of beauty 

Scarcely yet begun ; 
By the first bright day of Summer 

It should all be done. 
She has yet to loose the fountain 

From its iron chain ; 
And to make the barren moun- 
tain 

Green and bright again ; 
She must clear the snow that 
lingers 

Round the stalks away, 
And let the snow-drop's trem- 
bling whiteness 

See the light of day. 
She must watch, and warm, and 
cherish 

Every blade of green. 
Till the tender grass appearing 

From the earth is seen ; 
She must bring the golden crocus 

From her hidden store ; 
She must spread broad showers 
of daisies 

Each day more and more. 
In each hedge-row she must 
hasten 

Cowslips sweet to set; 
Primroses in rich profusion. 

With bright dew-drops wet, 
And under every leaf, in shadow 

Hide a violet ! 
Every tree within the forest 

Must be decked anew ; 
And the tender buds of promise 

Should be peeping through, 
Folded deep, and almost hidden. 

Leaf by leaf beside, 



184 



EVENING HYMN. 



What will make the Summer's 
glory, 
And the Autumn's pride. 
She must weave the loveliest car- 
pets, 
Checkered sun and shade, 
Every wood must have such path- 



^ Laid in every glade ; 
She must hang laburnum 
branches 

On each arched bough ; — 
And the white and purple lilac 

Should be waving now ; 
She must breathe, and cold winds 
vanish 

At her breath away ; 
And then load the air around her 

With the scent of May ! 
Listen then, O Spring ! nor 
linger 

On thy charmed way ; 
Have pity on thy prisoned flowers 

Wearying for the day. 
Listen to the rain-drops falling 

From the cloudy skies ; 
Listen to the hours calling, 

Bidding thee arise. 



EVENING HYMN. 

The shadows of the evening 
hours 

Fall from the darkening sky ; 
Upon the fragrance of the flowers 

The dews of evening lie ; 



Before thy throne, O Lord of 
heaven. 
We kneel at close of day ; 
Look on thy children from on 
high. 
And hear us while we pray. 

The sorrows of thy servants, 
Lord, 

do not thou despise ; 
But let the incense of our prayers 

Before thy mercy rise ; 
The brightness of the coming 
night 

Upon the darkness rolls : 
With hopes of future glory chase 

The shadows on our souls. 

Slowly the rays of daylight fade ; 

So fade within our heart 
The hopes in earthly love and joy. 

That one by one depart : 
Slowly the bright stars, one by 
one. 

Within the heavens shine ; — 
Give us, O Lord, fresh hopes in 
Heaven, 

And trust in things divine. 

Let peace, O Lord, thy peace, O 
God, 
Upon our souls descend ; 
From midnight fears and perils, 
thou 
Our trembling hearts defend; 
Give us a respite from our toil. 
Calm and subdue our woes ; 
Through the long day we suffer, 
Lord, 
O give us now repose ! 



HEARTS. 



185 



THE INNER CHAMBER. 

In the outer Court I was singing, 
Was singing the whole day 
long; 
From the inner chamber were 
ringing 
Echoes repeating my song. 

And I sang till it grew immortal ; 

For that very song of mine, 
When re-echoed behind the Por- 

. tal, 

Was filled with a life divine. 

Was the Chamber a silver round 
Of arches, whose magical art 

Drew in coils of musical sound, 
And cast them back on my 
heart ^ 

Was there hidden within a lyre 
Which, as air breathed over 
its strings, 
Filled my song with a soul of 
fire. 
And sent back my words with 
wings '? 

Was some seraph imprisoned 
there, 
Whose Voice made my song 
complete, 

And whose lingering, soft de- 
spair 

Made the echo so faint and sweet 1 

Long I trembled and paused, — 
then parted 
The curtains with heavy fringe ; 



And, half fearing, yet eager- 
hearted. 
Turned the door on its golden 
hinge. 

Now I sing in the court once 
more, 
I sing and I weep all day. 
As I kneel by the close-shut 
door, 
For I know what the echoes say. 

Yet I sing not the song of old. 
Ere I knew whence the echo 
came, 
Ere I opened the door of gold ; 
But the music sounds just the 
same. 

Then take warning, and turn 

away ; 

Do not ask of that hidden 

thing. 

Do not guess what the echoes say. 

Or the meaning of what I sing. 



HEARTS. 



I. 



A TRINKET made like a Heart, 
dear. 

Of red gold, bright and fine, 
Was given to me for a keepsake, 

Given to me for mine. 



186 



HEARTS. 



And another heart, warm and 
tender, 

As true as a heart could be ; 
And every throb that stirred it 

Was always and all for me. 

Sailing over the waters. 

Watching the far blue land, 

I dropped my golden heart, dear, 
Dropped it out of my hand ! 

It lies in the cold, blue waters, 
Fathoms and fathoms deep. 

The golden heart which I prom- 
ised. 
Promised to prize and keep. 

Gazing at Life's bright visions, 
So false, and fair, and new, 

I forgot the other heart, dear, 
Forgot it and lost it too ! 

I might seek that heart forever, 
I might seek and seek in 
vain ; — 

And for one short, careless hour, 
I pay with a life of pain. 



II. 

The Heart ? — Yes, I wore it 
As sign and as token 

Of a love that once gave it, 
A vow that was spoken ; 



But a love, and a vow, and a 
heart 
Can be broken. 

The Love 1 — Life and Death 
Are crushed into a day. 

So what wonder that Love 
Should as soon pass away, — • 

What wonder I saw it 
Fade, fail, and decay ? 

The Vow ? — why what was it ? 

It snapped like a thread ; 
Who cares for the corpse 

When the spirit is fled ? 
Then I said, " Let the Dead ris« 

And bury its dead, 

" While the true, living future 
Grows pure, wise, and strong.^* 

So I cast the gold heart 
I had worn for so long 

In the Lake, and bound on it 
A Stone — and a Wrong ! 



III. 



Look, this little golden Heart 
Was a true-love shrine 

For a tress of hair ; I held them, 
Heart and tress, as mine. 

Like the Love which gave the 
token : — 

See, to-day the Heart is broken ! 



A WOMAN'S LAST WORD. 



187 



Broken is the golden heart. 
Lost the tress of hair ; 

Ah, the shrine is empty, vacant. 
Desolate and bare ! 

So the token should depart. 

When Love dies within the heart. 

Fast and deep the river floweth, 
Floweth to the west ; ' 

I will cast the golden trinket 
In its cold dark breast : — 

Flow, O river, deep and fast. 

Over all the buried past ! 



TWO LOVES. 

Deep within my heart of hearts, 
dear. 
Bound with all its strings, 
Two Loves are together reigning, 
Both are crowned like Kings ; 
While my life, still uncomplain- 
ing, 
Rests beneath their wings. 

So they both will rule my heart, 
dear, 

Till it cease to beat ; 
No sway can be deeper, stronger, 

Truer, more complete ; 
Growing, as it lasts the longer, 

Sweeter, and more sweet. 

One all life and time transfigures; 
Piercing through and through 



Meaner things with magic splen- 
dor. 
Old, yet ever new : 
This — so strong and yet so 
tender — 
Is . . . my Love for you. 

Should it fail, — forgive my 
doubting 

In this world of pain, — 
Yet my other Love would ever 

Steadfastly remain ; 
And I know that I could never 

Turn to that in vain. 



Though its radiance may be 
fainter. 
Yet its task is wide ; 
For it lives to comfort sorrows, 
Strengthen, calm, and guide, 
And from Trust and Honor bor- 
rows 
All its peace and pride. 

Will you blame my dreaming, 
even 
If the first were flown ? 
Ah, I would not live without it, 

It is all your own : ^ 

And the other — can you doubt 
if? — 
Yours, and yours alone. 



A WOMAN'S LAST WORD. 

Well — the links are broken. 
All is past ; 



188 



PAST AND PRESENT. 



This farewell, when spoken, 

Is the last. 
I have tried and striven 

All in vain ; 
Such bonds must be riven, 

Spite of pain, 
And never, never, never 

Knit again. 

So I tell you plainly, 

It must be : 
I shall try, not vainly. 

To be free ; 
Truer, happier chances 

Wait me yet, 
While you, through fresh fancies, 

Can forget ; — 
And life has nobler uses 

Than Regret. 



All past words retracing, 

One by one. 
Does not help effacing 

What is done. 
Let it be. O, stronger 

Links can break ! 
Had we dreamed still longer 

We could wake, — 
Yet let us part in kindness 

For Love's sake. 



Bitterness and sorrow 

Will at last. 
In some bright to-morrow, 

Heal their past; 
But future hearts will never 

Be as true 



As mine was — is ever, 
Dear, for you .... 

• • Then must we part, when 
loving 
As we do ? 



PAST AND PRESENT. 

" Linger,'' I cried, " O radiant 

Time ! thy power 
Has nothing more to give ; life 

is complete : 
Let but the perfect Present, hour 

by hour, 
Itself remember and itself repeat. 



"And Love, — the future can 

but mar its splendor, 
Change can but dim the glory of 

its youth; 
Time has no star more faithful 

or more tender 
To crown its constancy or light , 

its truth." 



But Time passed on in spite of 

prayer or pleading, 
Through storm and peril; but 

that life might gain 
A Peace through strife all other 

peace exceeding. 
Fresh joy from sorrow, and new 

hope from pain. 



FOR THE FUTURE. 



189 



And since Love lived v^^hen all 

save Love was dying, 
And, passed through fire, grew 

stronger than before : — 
Dear, you know why, in double 

faith relying, 
I prize the Past much, but the 

Present more. 



FOR THE FUTURE. 

I WONDER did you ever count 
The value of one human fate ; 
Or sum the infinite amount 
Of one heart's treasures, and 

the weight 
Of Life's one venture, and the 

whole concentrate purpose 

of a soul. 

And if you ever paused to 
think 

That all this in your hands I 
laid 

Without a fear : — did you 
not shrink 

From such a burden? half 
afraid, 
Half wishing that you could di- 
vide the risk, or cast it all 
aside. 

While Love has daily perils, 
such 

As none foresee and none con- 
trol ; 



And hearts are strung so that 

one touch. 
Careless or rough, may jar the 
whole. 
You well might feel afraid to 
reign with absolute power 
of joy and pain. 

You well might fear — if 

Love's sole claim 
Were to be happy : but true Love 
Takes joy as solace, not as aim. 
And looks beyond, and looks 
above ; 
And sometimes through the bit- 
terest strife first learns to 
Uve her highest life. 

Earth forges joy into a chain 
Till fettered Love forgets its 

strength, 
Its purpose, and its end; — 

but Pain 
Restores its heritage at length, 
And bids Love rise again and be 

eternal, mighty, pure, and 

free. 

If then your future life should 

need 
A strength my Love can only 

gain 
Through suffering, or my heart 

be freed 
Only by sorrow from some 

stain, 
Then you shall give, and I will 

take, this Crown of fire for 

Love's dear sake. 
September 8, 1860. 



A CHAPLET OF VEESES. 



PUBLISHED lOR THE BENEEll OP 



THE PEOVIDENCE EOW NIGHT EEFUGE 



FOR 



HOMELESS WOMEN AND CHILDKEN. 



INTRODUCTION. 



There is scarcely any char- 
itable institution which should 
excite such universal, such un- 
hesitating sympathy, as a Night 
Refuge for the Homeless Poor. 

A shelter through the bleak 
winter nights, leave to rest in 
some poor shed instead of wan- 
dering through the pitiless streets, 
is a boon we could hardly deny 
to a starving dog. And yet we 
have all known that in this coun- 
try, in this town, many of our 
miserable fellow-creatures were 
pacing the streets through the 
long weary nights, without a 
roof to shelter them, without 
food to eat, with their poor rags 
soaked in rain, and only the bit- 
ter winds of Heaven for compan- 
ions ; women and children utter- 
ly forlorn and helpless, either 
wandering about all night, or 
crouching under a miserable 
archway, or, worst of all, seek- 
ing in death or sin the refuge 
denied them elsewhere. It is a 
marvel that we could sleep in 
peace in our warm, comfortable 



homes with this horror at our 
very door. 

But at last some efforts were 
made to efface this stain upon 
our country, public sympathy 
was appealed to, and a few 
" Refuges " were opened, to shel- 
ter our homeless poor through 
the winter nights. 

In the autumn of 1860 there 
was no Catholic Refuge in the 
kingdom ; and excellent as were 
the Protestant Refuges, their re- 
sources were quite inadequate to 
meet the claims upon them. 

In this country, as we all 
know, the very poorest and most 
destitute are in many cases 
Catholics ; and doubtless our 
Priests, to whom no form of sin 
or sorrow is strange, must see in 
a special manner, and in innu- 
merable results, the sufferings, 
dangers, and temptations of the 
homeless. The Rev. Dr. Gil- 
bert therefore resolved to open a 
Catholic Night Refuge in his 
parish, and to his zealous charity 
and unwearied efforts are due 



196 



INTRODUCTION. 



the foundation and success of the 
Providence Row Night Ref- 
uge FOR Homeless Women 
AND Children ; the first Cath- 
olic Refuge in England or Ire- 
land, and still the only one in 
England. 

The Sisters of Mercy had long 
been aiding their pastors in the 
schools of the parish, and when 
this new opening for their char- 
ity was suggested to them, they 
unhesitatingly accepted a task, 
worthy indeed of the holy name 
they bear. They were seeking 
for some house more suitable for 
a Convent than the one they 
had hitherto occupied in Broad 
Street ; and when Dr. Gilbert 
saw the large stable at the back 
of 14 Finsbury Square, he felt 
that here was a suitable place 
for his long-cherished plan of a 
Night Refuge. It was separated 
from the house by a yard, and 
opened on a narrow street at the 
back, already called, with a hap- 
py appropriateness. Providence 
Row. To Finsbury Square 
therefore the community re- 
moved, and it was not long be- 
fore the stable was fitted up with 
wooden beds and benches, the 
few preparations were completed, 
and on the 7th of October, 1860, 
the Refuge was opened. At 
first there were but fourteen beds, 
but contributions flowed in from 
Protestants as well as Catholics, 
and in February, 1861, thirty- 



one more beds were added, mak- 
ing in all forty -five. But as 
many of the poor women have 
children with them, rarely less 
than sixty persons are each night 
admitted. Up to the present 
time, fourteen thousand seven 
hundred and eighty-five nights' 
lodgings have been given, with 
the same number of suppers and 
breakfasts. 

From six to eight are the 
hours of admission ; but this ig 
indeed a needless rule, for a 
crowd of ragged women, with 
pale, weary children clinging to 
them, are waiting patiently long 
before the doors are opened, and 
the place is filled at once. 

Means for washing are given 
them, they rest themselves in 
warmth, light, and peace, and at 
eight o'clock each person receives 
half a pound of bread and a 
large basin of excellent gruel. 
Night prayers are said by one 
of the Sisters, and then the poor 
wanderers lie down in their rude 
but clean and comfortable beds. 
They have the same meal in the 
morning. 

Those who come on Saturday 
evening remain till Monday, re- 
ceiving on Sunday, besides the 
usual breakfast and supper, an 
extra half-pound of bread, and a 
good supply of meat soup. 
There is no distinction of creed ; 
Protestants and Catholics are 
alike admitted. There are b 



INTRODUCTION. 



197 



two conditions of admittance, — 
that the applicants be homeless 
and of good character. This is 
, the only Refuge which makes 
character a condition ; and it is 
found that, in spite of all pre- 
cautions, much harm arises in 
the other Refuges to the young 
and innocent, from the bad lan- 
guage and evil example of the 
degraded class with whom they 
are brought in contact. 

Each evening (and on Sun- 
days more fully) simple instruc- 
tions on the Catechism are given 
by one of the Sisters ; but this 
the Protestants do not attend ; 
they frequently ask leave to be 
present, but it is not permitted, 
(without the special permission 
of one of the clergy,) as the in- 
structions on the practice of our 
faith would be to them compara- 
tively useless and unmeaning. 

The temporary shelter and 
food which is given in Provi- 
dence Row is not the only, per- 
haps often not the greatest, bene- 
fit bestowed upon the poor for- 
lorn inmates. They find advice, 
sympathy, and help from the 
kind Sisters ; and the very tell- 
ing their troubles to one who is 
there to serve and tend them, 
not for any earthly reward, but 
from Christian love and pity, 
must be a rest to their weary 
hearts, a comfort \h their sore 
want and distress. It is touch- 
ing to see their eager desire to 



be allowed to help the Sister in 
the cleaning, cooking, etc., and 
the half-ashamed thankfulness 
with which they watch her busied 
in their service. 

One of the Nuns sleeps every 
night in the Refuge, and no un- 
ruly sound, no whisper of mur- 
mur or disrespect, ever rises 
against her gentle sway. Nay, 
even more, when she has the 
sad task of selecting among the 
waiting crowd the number vi^ho 
may enter, choosing generally 
those with children and those 
who have not applied befoi 5^, the 
rest submit without a murmu/. 
Though the little ones are hard- 
ly counted, but creep in by their 
mothers' sides, there are still 
many — sometimes thirty or 
forty nightly — turned away for 
want of space. They have had 
a glimpse of warmth and light, 
and then it is the cruel office of 
the kind Nun to bar the door 
against them ; but no angry 
word, no remonstrance, meets 
her sorrowful refusal ; they turn 
once more to their weary wan- 
derings in the dark, bleak streets. 
And so will many have to do, 
night after night, until the Ref^ 
uge is enlarged. The present 
space will hold no more beds, 
but to build an additional dor- 
mitory is the earnest desire and 
intention of Dr. Gilbert. 

No salaries are received hy any 
who have charge of the Refuge, 



198 



INTRODUCTION. 



Among the many causes for 
gratitude we have to our good 
Religious, surely it is not one 
of the least, that what we can 
spare in the cause of charity 
goes solely and directly to its 
object; the more difficult and 
more perfect share of the good 
work being taken by them out 
of love to God and his poor. 

The Refuge is open from the 
month of October to April. 

It is placed under the special 
patronage of Our Blessed Lady, 
and Blessed Benedict Labre. 

May the Mother who wan- 
dered homeless through inhos- 
pitable Bethlehem, and the Saint 
who was a beggar and an out- 
cast upon the face of the earth, 
watch over this Refuge for the 
poor and desolate, and obtain 
from the charity of the faithful 
the aid whicli it so sorely needs. 



I may add, that donations for 
the Refuge will be thankfully 
received by the Rev. Dr. Gilbert, 
22 Finsbury Circus, or by the 
Rev. Mother, at the Convent, 14 
Finsbury Square, E. C. 

We all meditate long and 
often on the many kinds of suf' 
ferings borne for us by our Bless- 
ed Redeemer; but perhaps, if 
we consider a moment, we shall 
most of us confess, that the one 
we think of least often, the one 
we compassionate least of all, is 
the only one of which he deigned 
to tell us himself, and for which 
he himself appealed to our pity 
in the Divine complaint, "The 
foxes have holes, and the birds 
of the air have nests, but the 
Son of Man has not where to lay 
his head" 

A. A. P. 
May, 1862. 



A CHAPLET OF VERSES. 



THE ARMY OF THE LORD. 



To fight the battle of the Cross, Christ's chosen ones are sent, — 
Good soldiers and great victors, — a noble armament. 
They use no earthly weapon, they know not spear or sword, 
Yet right and true and valiant is the army of the Lord. 

II. 

Fear them, ye mighty ones of earth ; fear them, ye demon foes ; 
Slay them and think to conquer, but the ranks will always close : 
In vain do Earth and Hell unite their power and skill to try. 
They fight better for their wounds, and they conquer when they die. 



The soul of every sinner is the victory they would gain ; 
They would bind each rebel heart in their Master's golden chain : 
Faith is the shield they carry, and the two-edged sword they bear 
Is God's strongest, mightiest weapon, and they call it Love and 
Prayer. 

IV. 

Where the savage hordes are dwelling by the Ganges' sacred tide, 
Through the trackless Indian forests, St. Francis is their guide ; 
Where crime and sin are raging, to conqud!* they are gone ; — 
They do conquer as they go, for St. Philip leads them on. 



200 TEE ARMY OF THE LORD. 



They are come where all are kneeling at the shrines of wealth and 

pride, 
And an old and martyred Bishop is their comrade and their guide : 
To tell the toil-worn negro of freedom and repose, 
O'er the vast Atlantic's bosom they are called by sweet St. Rose. 

VI. 

They are gone where Love is frozen, and Faith grown calm and cold, 
Where the world is all triumphant, and the sheep have left the fold, 
Where His children scorn His blessings, and His sacred Shrines 

despise, — 
And the beacon of the warriors is the light in Mary's eyes. 



The bugle for their battle is the matin bell for prayer ; 
And for their noble standard Christ's holy Cross they bear ; 
His sacred name their war-cry, 't is in vain what ye can do. 
They must conquer, for your Angels are leaguing with them 'too. 



Would you know, O World, these warriors ? Go where the poor, 

the old. 
Ask for pardon and for heaven, and you offer food and gold ; 
With healing and with comfort, with words of peace and prayer. 
Bearing His greatest gift to man, — Christ's chosen priests are there. 

IX. 

Where sin and crime are dwelling, hid from the light of day, 
And life and hope are fading at Death's cold touch away. 
Where dying eyes in horror see the long-forgotten past, 
Christ's servants claim the sinner, and gain his soul at last. 

X. 

Where the rich and proud and mighty God's message would defy, 
In warning and reproof His anointed ones stand by : 
Bright are the crowns oi glory God keepeth for His own. 
Their life one sigh for heaven, and their aim His will alone. 



THE ARMY OF THE LORD, 2(U 

XI. 

And see sweet Mercy's sister, where the poor and wretched dwell, 

In gentle accents telling of Him she loves so well ; 

Training young hearts to serve their Lord, and place their hope in 

Heaven, 
Bidding her erring sisters love much and be forgiven. 



And where in cloistered silence dim the Brides of Jesus dwell. 
Where purest incense rises up from every lowly cell, ' 

They plead not vainly, — they have chosen and gained the better part, *. 
And given their gentle life away to Him who has their heart. * 



And some there are among us — the path which they have trod 
Of sin and pain and anguish has led at last to God : 
They plead, and Christ will hear them, that the poor slaves who pine 
In the bleak dungeon they have left, may see His truth divine. 

XIV. 

O, who can tell hot7 many hearts are altars to His praise. 

From which the silent prayer ascends through patient nights and 

days : 
The sacrifice is offered still in secret and alone, 
O World, ye do not know them, but He can help His own. 



They are with us, His true soldiers, they come in power and might; 
Glorious the crown which they shall gain after the heavenly fight ; 
And you, perchance, who scoff, may yet their rest and glory share, 
As the rich spoil of their battle and the captives of their prayer. 



O, who shall tell the wonder of that great day of rest. 

When even in this place of strife His soldiers are so blest : 

World, O Earth, why strive ye ? join the low chant they sing, ■ — 

" O Grave, where is thy victory ! O Death, where is thy sting ! ** 



202 



THE SACRED HEART. 



THE STAB OF THE SEA. 

How many a mighty ship 

The stormy waves overwhelm ; 
Yet our frail bark floats on, 

Our Angel holds the helm : 
Dark storms are gathering round, 

And dangerous winds arise, 
Yet see ! one trembling star 

Is shining in the skies ; — 
And we are safe who trust in 
thee. 
Star of the Sea ! 



A long and weary voyage 

Have we to reach our home, 
And dark and sunken rocks 

Are hid in silver foam ; 
Each moment we may sink. 

But steadily we sail. 
Our winged Pilot smiles. 

And says we shall not fail : — 
And so we kneel and call on 
thee, 
Star of the Sea ! 



Yes, for those shining rays 

Shall beam upon the main. 
Shall guide us safely on. 

Through fear and doubt and 
pain: 
And see — the stormy wind 
Our little sail has caught. 
The tempest others fear 

Shall drive us into port : — 
Through Life's dark voyage we 
trust in thee, 
Star of the Sea ! 



The shore now looms in sight. 

The far-off golden strand, 
Yet many a freight is wrecked 

And lost in sight of land ; 
Then guide us safely home, 
Through that last hour of 
strife. 
And welcome us to land. 

From the long voyage of 
life : — 
In death and life we call on thee, 
Star of the Sea ! 



THE SACRED HEART. 

What wouldst thou have, O 
soul. 

Thou weary soul ? 
Lo ! I have sought for rest 
On the Earth's heaving breast, 

From pole to pole. 
Sleep — I have been with her, 

But she gave dreams ; 
Death — nay, the rest he gives 

Rest only seems. 
Fair nature knows it not — 

The grass is growing ; 
The blue air knows it not — 

The winds are blowing : 
Not in the changing sky. 

The stormy sea, 
Yet somewhere in God's wide 
world 

Rest there must be. 
Within thy Saviour's Heart 

Place all thy care. 



THE SACRED HEART. 



203 



And learn, weary soul, 
Thy Rest is there. 



What wouldst thou, trembling 
souH 

Strength for the strife, — 
Strength for this fiery war 

That we call Life. 
Fears gather thickly round ; 

Shadowy foes, 
Like unto armed men. 

Around me close. 
What am I, frail and poor, 

When griefs arise ? 
No help from the weak earth. 

Or the cold skies. 
Lo ! I can find no guards. 

No weapons borrow ; 
Shrinking, alone I stand. 

With mighty sorrow. 
Courage, thou trembling soul. 

Grief thou must bear. 
Yet thou canst find a strength 

Will match despair ; 
Within thy Saviour's Heart — 

Seek for it there. 



What wouldst thou have, sad 
soul. 

Oppressed with grief? — 
Comfort : I seek in vain, 

Nor find relief. 
Nature, all pitiless, 

Smiles on my pain ; 
I ask my fellow-men. 

They give disdain. 
I asked the babbling streams. 

But they flowed on ; 



I asked the wise and good, 

But they gave none. 
Though I have asked the stars, 

Coldly they shine. 
They are too bright to know 

Grief such as mine. 
I asked for comfort still. 

And I found tears. 
And I have sought in vain 

Long, weary years. 
Listen, thou mournful soul, 

Thy pain shall cease ; 
Deep in His sacred Heart 

Dwells joy and peace. 



Yes, in that Heart divine 

The Angels bright 
Find, through eternal years, 

Still new delight. 
From thence his constancy 

The martyr drew. 
And there the virgin band 

Their refuge knew. 
There, racked by pain without, 

And dread within, 
How many souls have found 

Heaven's bliss begin. 
Then leave thy vain attempts 

To seek for peace ; 
The world can never give 

One soul release : 
But in thy Saviour's Heart 

Securely dwell. 
No pain can harm thee, hid 

In that sweet cell. 
Then fly, O coward soul. 

Delay no more : 
What words can speak the joy 

For thee in store ? 



204 



THE NAMES OF OUR LADY, 



What smiles of earth can tell 
Of peace like thine ? 

Silence and tears are best 
For thinojs divine. 



THE NAMES OF OUR 
LADY. 

Through the wide world thy 
children raise 
Their prayers, and still we see 
Calm are the nights and bright 
the days 
Of those who trust in thee. 

Around thy starry crown are 
wreathed 

So many names divine : 
Which is the dearest to my heart, 

And the most worthy thine ? 

Star of the Sea : we kneel and 
pray 
When tempests raise their 
voice ; 
Star of the Sea ! the haven 
reached, 
We call thee and rejoice. 

Help of the Christian : in our need 
Thy mighty aid we claim ; 

If we are faint and weary, then 
We trust in that dear name. 

Our Ladg of the Rosary : 
What name can be so sweet 



As what we call thee when we 
place 
Our chaplets at thy feet. 

Bright Queen of Heaven : when 
we are sad. 
Best solace of our pains ; — 
It tells us, though on earth we 
toil, 
Our Mother lives and reigns. 

Our Lady of Mount Carmel : thus 
Sometimes thy name is known ; 

It tells us of the badge we wear. 
To live or die thine own. 

Our Lady dear of Victories : 
We see our faith oppressed, 

And, praying for our erring land, 
We love that name the best. 

Refuge of Sinners : many a soul. 
By guilt cast down, and sin, 

Has learned through this dear 
name of thine 
Pardon and peace to win. 

Health of the Sick : when anxious 
hearts 
Watch by the sufferer's bed. 
On this sweet name of thine they 
lean. 
Consoled and comforted. 

Mother of Sorrows : many a heart 
Half broken by despair 

Has laid its burden by the cross, 
And found a mother there. 



A CHAP LET OF FLOWERS. 



205 



Queen of all Saints : the Church 
appeals 
For her loved dead to thee ; 
She knows they wait in patient 
pain 
A bright eternity. 

Fair Queen of Virgins : thy pure 
band, 
The lilies round thy throne, 
Love the dear title which they 
bear 
Most that it is thine own. 

True Queen of Martyrs : if we 

shrink 

From want, or pain, or woe. 

We think of the sharp sword 

that pierced 

Thy heart, and call thee so. 

Mary : the dearest name of all, 
The holiest and the best ; 

The first low word that Jesus 
lisped 
Laid on His mother's breast. 

Mary, the name that Gabriel 
spoke. 
The name that conquers hell : 
Mary, the name that through 
high heaven 
The angels love so well. 

Mary, — our comfort and our 
hope, — 

O may that word be given 
To be the last we sigh on earth, — 

The first we breathe in heaven- 



A CHAPLET OF FLOW- 
ERS. 

Dear, set the casement open, 
The evening breezes blow 

Sweet perfumes from the flowers 
I cannot see below. 

I can but catch the waving 
Of chestnut boughs that pass. 

Their shadow must have covered 
The sun-dial on the grass. 

So go and bring the flowers 
I love best to my room. 

My failing strength no longer 
Can bear me where they bloom. 

You know I used to love them. 
But ah ! they come too late, — 

For see, my hands are trembling 
Beneath their dewy weight. 

So I will watch you weaving 
A chaplet for me, dear. 

Of all my favorite flowers. 
As I could do last year. 

First, take those crimson roses, — 
How red their petals glow ! 

Red as the blood of Jesus, 
Which heals our sin and woe. 

See in each heart of crimson 
A deeper crimson shine : 

So in the foldings of our hearts 
Should glow a love divine. 



206 



A CHAP LET OF FLOWERS, 



Next place those tender violets, 
Look how they still regret 

The cell where they were hid- 
den, — 
The tears are on them yet. 

How many souls — His loved 
ones — 

Dwell lonely and apart, 
Hiding from all but One above 

The fragrance of their heart. 

Then take that virgin lily, 
How holily she stands ! 

You know the gentle angels 
Bear lilies in their hands. 

Yet crowned with purer radiance 
A deeper love they claim. 

Because their queen-like white- 
ness 
Is linked with Mary's name. 

And now this spray of ivy : 
You know its gradual clasp 

Uproots strong trees, and towers 
Fall crumbling in its grasp. 

So God's dear grace around us 
With secret patience clings. 

And slow, sure power, that 
loosens 
Strong holds on human things. 

Then heliotrope, that turneth 
Towards her lord the sun, — 

Would that our thoughts as 
fondly 
Sought our beloved One. 



Nay, if that branch be fading. 
Cast not one blossom by. 

Its little task is ended 
And it does well to die. 

And let some field flowers even 
Be wreathed among the rest, 

I think the infant Jesus 

Would love such ones the best 

These flowers are all too bril> 
liant, 
So place calm heart's-ease 
there, 
God's last and sacred treasure 
For all who wait and bear. 

Then lemon-leaves, whose sweet- 
ness 
Grows sweeter than before 
When bruised, and crushed, and 
broken, 
— Hearts need that lesson 
more. 

Yet stay, — one crowning glory. 
All His, and yet all ours ; 

The dearest, tenderest thought of 
all. 
Is still the Passion-flower's. 

So take it now, — nay, heed not 
My tears that on it fall ; 

I thank Him for the flowers. 
As I can do for all. 

And place it on the altar, 

Where oft, in days long flown, 

I knelt by His dear Mother, 
And knew she was my own. 



KYRIE ELEISON. 



207 



The bells ring out her praises, 
The evening shades grow 
dim; 

Go there and say a prayer for me, 
And sing Our Lady's hymn. 

While I lie here, and ask her 
help 

In that last, longed-for day — 
When the Beloved of my heart 

Will call my soul away. 



KYRIE ELEISON. 

In joy, in pain, in sorrow. 

Father, Thy hand we see ; 
But some among Thy children 

Deny this faith and Thee. 
They will not ask Thy mercy, 

But we kneel for them in 
prayer ; 
Are they not still Thy children ? 

Pity, O God ! and spare. 
Thy peace, O Lord, has never 

On their desolate pathway 
shone, 
Darkness is all around them : 

Kyrie Eleison ! 

For them the starry heavens 
No hymn of worship raise ; 

For them, earth's innocent flow- 
ers 
Breathe not Thy silent praise ; 

In heaven they know no Saviour, 
No Father, and no Friend, 



And life is all they hope for, 
And Death they call the end ; 

Their eyes, O Lord ! are blinded 
To the glories of the sun. 

To the shining of the sea-star — 
Kyrie Eleison ! 



By the love Thy saints have 
shown Thee, 
And the sorrows they have 
borne. 
Leave not these erring creatures 

To wander thus forlorn. 
By Thy tender name of Sa- 
viour, — 
The name they have denied ; 
By Thy bitter death and passion. 
And the Cross which they de- 
ride ; 
By the anguish Thou hast suf« 
fered, 
And the glory Thou hast won ; 
By Thy love and by Thy pity — > 
Christe Eleison ! 



Pray for them, glorious seraphs» 

And ye, bright angel band. 
Who chant His praises ever, 

And in His presence stand ; 
And thou, O gentle Mother, 

Queen of the starry sky ; 
Ye Saints whose toils are over, 

Join your voices to our cry, — . 
In Thy terror or Thy mercy, 

Call them ere life is done, 
For His sake who died to save 
them, 

Kyrie Eleison ! 



208 



AN APPEAL, 



THE ANNUNCIATION. 

How pure, and frail, and white, 
The snowdrops shine ! 

Gather a garland bright 
For Mary's shrine. 

For,^ born of winter snows, 

These fragile flowers 
Are gifts to our fair Queen 

From Spring's first hours. 

For on this blessed day- 
She knelt at prayer ; 

When, lo ! before her shone 
An Angel fair. 

" Hail, Mary ! " thus he cried, 

With reverent fear : 
She, with sweet wondering eyes. 

Marvelled to hear. 



Be still, ye clouds of Heaven ! 

Be silent. Earth ! 
And hear an Angel tell 

Of Jesus' birth. 



While she, whom Gabriel hails 

As full of grace, 
Listens with humble faith 

In her sweet face. 



Be still. Pride, War, and Pomp, 
Vain Hopes, vain Fears, 

For now an Angel speaks. 
And Mary hears. 



" Hail, Mary ! " lo, it rings 

Through ages on ; 
" Hail, Mary ! " it shall sound, 

Till Time is done. 

" Hail, Mary ! " infant lips 

Lisp it to-day ; 
" Hail, Mary ! " with faint smile 

The dying say. 

" Hail, Mary ! " many a heart 
Broken with grief, v. 

In that angelic prayer •* 

Has found relief. 

And many a half-lost soul, 

When turnep at bay, 
With those triumphant words 

Has won the day. 

"Hail, Mary, Queen of Heav- 
en!" 

Let us repeat. 
And place our snowdrop wreath 

Here at her feet. 



AN APPEAL. ; 

" THE IRISH CHURCH MISSION 
FOR CONVERTING THE CATH- 
OLICS." 

Spare her, O cruel England ! 

Thy Sister lieth low ; 
Chained and oppressed she lieth, 

Spare her that cruel blow. 



AN APPEAL, 



209 



We ask not for the freedom 

Heaven has vouchsafed to thee, 
Nor bid thee share with Ireland 

The empire of the sea ; 
Her children ask no shelter, — 

Leave them the stormy sky ; 
They ask not for thy harvests, 

For they know how to die : 
Deny them, if it please thee, 

A grave beneath the sod : — 
But we do cry, England, 

Leave them their faith in God ! 

Take, if thou wilt, the earnings 

Of the poor peasant's toil. 
Take all the scanty produce 

That grows on Irish soil, 
To pay the alien preachers 

Whom Ireland will not hear, 
To pay the scoffers at a Creed 

Which Irish hearts hold dear : 
But leave them, cruel England, 

The gift their God has given. 
Leave them their ancient worship. 

Leave them their faith in 
Heaven. 

You come and offer Learning, — 

A mighty gift, 't is true ; 
Perchance the greatest blessing 

That now is known to you. 
But not to see the wonders 

Sages of old beheld 
Can they peril a priceless treas- 
ure, 

The Faith their Fathers held ; 
For in learning and in science 

They may forget to pray, — 
God will not ask for knowledge 

On the great judgment day. 



When, in their wretched cabins, 

Racked by the fever pain, 
And the weak cries of their chil- 
dren 

Who ask for food in vain ; 
When starving, naked, helpless, 

From the shed that keeps them 
warm 
Man has driven them forth to 
perish. 

In a less cruel storm ; — 
Then, then, we plead for mercy, 

Then, Sister, hear our cry ! 
For all we ask, O England, 

Is — leave them there to die ! 
Cursed is the food and raiment 

For which a soul is sold ; 
Tempt not another Judas 

To barter God for gold. 
You offer food and shelter 

If they their faith deny : — 
What do you gain, O England, 

By such a shallow lie ? .... 
We will not judge the tempted,— 

May God blot out their 
shame, — 
He sees the misery round them. 

He knows man^s feeble frame ; 
His pity still may save them, 

In His strength they must trust 
Who calls us all His children, 

Yet knows we are but dust. 

Then leave them the kind tend- 
ing 
Which helped their childish 
years ; 
Leave them the gracious comfort 
Which dries the mourner's 
tears ; 



210 



THE JUBILEE OF 1850. 



Leave them to that great mother 
In whose bosom they were 
born ; 
Leave them the holy mysteries 

That comfort the forlorn : 
And, amid all their trials, 

Let the Great Gift abide, 
Which you, O prosperous Eng- 
land, 
Have dared to cast aside. 
Leave them the pitying Angels 

And Mary^s gentle aid. 
For which earth^s dearest treas- 
ures 
Were not too dearly paid. 
Take back your bribes, then, 
England, 
Your gold is black and dim, 
And if God sends plague and 
famine, 
They can die and go to Him. 



THE JUBILEE OF 1850. 



[The titles of the " Island of Saints " 
and the " Dower of our Lady," though 
more frequently applied to Ireland, 
were often given to England in former 
times.] 



Bless God, ye happy Lands, 
For your more favored lot : 

Our England dwells apart, 
Yet O forget her not. 

While, with united joy, 

This day you all adore, | 



Remember what she was, 

Though her voice is heard no 
more. 
Pray for our desolate land, 
Left in her pride and pow- 
er . — 
She was the Isle of Saints, 
She was Our Lady's Dower. 

Look on her ruined Altars ; 

He dwelleth there no more ; 
Think what her empty churches 

Have been in times of yore ; 
She knows the names no longer 

Of her own sainted dead. 
Denies the faith they held. 
And the cause for which they 
bled. 
Then pray for our desolate 

land. 
Left in her pride and pow- 
er : — 
She was the Isle of Saints, 
She was Our Lady's Dower ! 

Pray that her vast Cathedrals, 

Deserted, empty, bare. 
May once more echo accents 
Of Love, and Faith, and 
Prayer ; 
That the holy sign may bless us, 
On wood, and field, and plain. 
And Jesus, Mary, Joseph, 
May dwell with us again. 
Pray, ye more faithful na- 

tions, 
In this most happy hour : — 
She was the Isle of Saims, 
She was Our Lady ^s Duwer 



CHRISTMAS FLOWERS. 



211 



Beg of our Lord to give her 

The gift she cast aside, 
And in His mercy pardon 

Her faithlessness and pride : 
Pray to her Saints, who worship 
Before God^s mercy Throne ; 
Look where our Queen is dwell- 
ing, 
Ask her to claim her own. 
To give her the proud titles 
Lost in an evil hour : — 
She was the Isle of Saints, 
She was Our Lady's Dower. 



CHRISTMAS FLOWERS. 

The Earth is so bleak and de- 
serted, 
So cold the winds blow. 
That no bud or no blossom will 
venture 
To peep from below ; 
But, longing for springtime, 
they nestle 
Deep under the snow. 

O, in May how we honored Our 
Lady, 
Her own month of flowers ! 
How happy we were with our 
garlands 
Through all the spring hours ! 
All her shrines, in the church or 
the wayside. 
Were made into bowers. 



And in August — her glorious 
Assumption ; 
What feast was so bright ! 
What clusters of virginal lilies, 

So pure and so white ! 
Why, the incense could scarce 
overpower 
Their perfume that night. 



And through her dear feasts of 
October 
The roses bloomed still ; 
Our baskets were laden with 
flowers, 
Her vases to fill : 
Oleanders, geraniums, and myr> 
ties. 
We chose at our will. 



And we know when the Purifi- 
cation, 
Her first feast, comes round, 
The early spring flowers, to greet 
it. 
Just opening are found ; 
And pure, w^hite, and spotless, 
the snowdrop 
Will pierce the dark ground. 

And now, in this dreary Decem- 
ber, 
Our glad hearts are fain 
To see if Earth comes not to help 
us ; 
We seek all in vain : 
Not the tiniest blossom is coming 
Till Spring breathes again. 



212 



A DESIRE, 



And the bright feast of Christmas 
is dawning, 
And Mary is blest ; 
For now she will give ns her 
Jesus, 
Our dearest, our best, 
And see where she stands, the 
Maid-Mother, 
Her Babe on her breast ! 

And not one poor garland to give 
her. 
And yet now, behold. 
How the Kings bring their gifts, 
— - myrrh, and incense. 
And bars of pure gold : 
And the Shepherds have brought 
for the Baby 
Some lambs from their folds. 

He stretches His tiny hands to- 
wards us. 
He brings us all grace ; 
And look at His Mother who 
holds Him, — 
The smile on her face 
Says they welcome the humblest 
gifts 
In the manger we place. 

Where love takes, let love give ; 
and so doubt not : 
Love counts but the will, 
And the heart has its flowers of 
devotion 
No Winter can chill ; 
They who cared for " good-will " 
that first Christmas 
Will care for it still. 



In the Chaplet on Jesus and 
Mary, 

From our hearts let us call, 
At each Ave Maria we whisper 

A rosebud shall fall. 
And at each Gloria Patri a lily, 

The crown of them all ! 



A DESIRE. 

O, TO have dwelt in Bethlehem 
When the star of the Lord 
shone bright ! 
To have sheltered the holy wan- 
derers 
On that blessed Christmas 
night ; 
To have kissed the tender way- 
worn feet 
Of the Mother undefiled. 
And, with reverent wonder and 
deep delight. 
To have tended the Holy 
Child ! 

Hush ! such a glory was not for 
thee; 
But that care may still be 
thine ; 
For are there not little ones still 
to aid 
For the sake of the Child di- 
vine? 
Are there no wandering Pilgrims 
now. 
To thy heart and thy home to 
take? 



A DESIRE. 



213 



And are there no mothers whose 
weary hearts 
You can comfort for Mary's 
sake'? 



O to have knelt at Jesus' feet, 
And to have learnt His heav- 
enly lore ! 
To have listened the gentle les- 
sons He taught 
On mountain, and sea, and 
shore ! 
While the rich and the mighty 
knew Him not, 
To have meekly done His 
will : — 
Hush ! for the worldly reject Him 

yet, 

You can serve and love Him 
still. 
Time cannot silence His mighty 
words. 
And though ages have fled 
away, 
His gentle accents of love divine 
Speak to your soul to-day. 



O to have solaced that weeping 
one 
Whom the righteous dared 
despise ! 
To have tenderly bound up her 
scattered hair, 
And have dried her tearful 
eyes ! 
Hush ! there are broken hearts 
to soothe. 
And penitent tears to dry, 



While Magdalen prays for you 
and them, 
From her home in the starry 
sky. 

to have followed the mournful 
way 
Of those faithful few forlorn ! 
And grace, beyond even an an- 
gel's hope, 
The Cross for our Lord have 
borne ! 
To have shared in His tender 
mother's grief. 
To have wept at Mary's side. 
To have lived as a child in her 
home, and then 
In her loving care have died ! 

Hush ! and with reverent sorrow 
still, 
Mary's great anguish share ; 
And learn, for the sake of her 
Son divine, 
Thy cross, like His, to bear. 
The sorrows that weigh on thy 
soul unite 
With those which thy Lord 
has borne, 
And Mary will comfort thy dy- 
ing hour, 
Nor leave thy soul forlorn. 

O to have seen what we now 
adore. 
And, though veiled to faithless 
sight. 
To have known, in the form that 
Jesus wore. 
The Lord of Life and Light ! 



214 



THREEFOLD. 



Hush ! for He dwells among us 
still, 
And a grace can yet be thine, 
Which the scoffer and doubter 
can never know, — 
The Presence of the Divine. 
Jesus is with His children yet, 
For His word can never de- 
ceive ; 
Go where His lowly Altars rise, 
And worship, and believe. 



OUR DAILY BREAD. 

Give us our daily Bread, 

O God, the bread of strength ! 
For we have learnt to know 

How weak we are at length. 
As children we are weak. 

As children must be fed ; — 
Give us Thy Grace, O Lord, 

To be our daily Bread. 

Give us our daily Bread, — 

The bitter bread of grief. 
We sought earth's poisoned feasts 

For pleasure and relief; 
We sought her deadly fruits, 

But now, O God, instead, 
We ask Thy healing grief 

To be our daily Bread. 

orive us our daily Bread 
To cheer our fainting soul ; 

The feast of comfort. Lord, 
And peace, to make us whole : 



For we are sick of tears. 

The useless tears we shed ; — 
Now give us comfort, Lord, 

To be our daily Bread. 



Give us our daily Bread, 

The Bread of Angels, Lord, 
By us, so many times. 

Broken, betrayed, adored : 
His Body and His Blood ; — 

The feast that Jesus spread : 
Give Him — our life, our all — 

To be our daily Bread ! 



THREEFOLD. 

Mother of grace and mercy. 

Behold how burdens three 
Weigh down my weary spirit, 

And drive me here — to Thee. 
Three gifts I place forever 

Before thy shrine : 
The threefold offering of my love, 

Mary, to thine ! 

The Past : with all its memories, 

Of pain — that stings me yet ; 
Of sin — that brought repent- 
ance; 

Of joy — that brought regret. 
That which has been : — forever 

So bitter-sweet — 
I lay in humblest offering 

Before thy feet. 



OR A FRO ME, 



215 



The Present : that dark shadow 

Through which we toil to-day ; 
The slow drops of the chalice 

That must not pass away. 
Mother ! I dare not struggle, 

Still less despair : 
I place my Present in thy hands, 

And leave it there. 

The Future : holding all things 

Which I can hope or fear, 
Brings sin and pain, it may be, 

Nearer and yet more near. 
Mother ! this doubt and shrink- 
ing 

Will not depart, 
Unless I trust my Future 

To thy dear Heart. 

Making the Past my lesson. 

Guiding the Present right, 
Euling the misty Future, — 

Bless them and me to-night. 
What may be, and what must be. 

And what has been, 
In thy dear care forever 

I leave, my Queen ! 



CONFIDO ET CONQUI- 
ESCO. 

" Scit ; potest ,• vult: quid est quod 
timeamus ? " — S. Ignatius. 

Fbet not, poor soul : while doubt 
and fear 
Disturb thy breast. 



The pitying angels, who can see 

How vain thy wild regret must be, 

Say, Trust and Rest. 

Plan not, nor scheme, — but 
calmly wait ; 
His choice is best. 
While blind and erring is thy 

sight, 
His wisdom sees and judges right, 
So Trust and Rest. 

Strive not, nor struggle : thy 
poor might 
Can never wrest 
The meanest thing to serve thy 

will ; 
All power is His alone : Be still. 
And Trust and Rest. 

Desire not : self-love is strong 

Within thy breast ; 
And yet He loves thee better still. 
So let Him do His loving will, 

And Trust and Rest. 

What dost thou fear 1 His wis- 
dom reigns 
Supreme confessed ; 
His power is infinite ; his love 
Thy deepest, fondest dreams 
above ; — 
So Trust and Rest. 



ORA PRO ME. 

Ave Maria ! bright and pure, 
Hear, hear me when I pray ! 



SJ16 



FISHERS OF MEN. 



Pains and pleasures try the pil- 
grim 
On his long and weary way ; 
Fears and perils are around 
me, — 

Ora pro me. 

Mary, see my heart is burdened, 
Take, O take the weight away. 
Or help me, that I may not mur- 
mur 
If it is a cross you lay 
On my weak and trembling heart, 
— but 

Ora pro me. 

Mary, Mary, Queen of Heaven ! 

Teach, O teach me to obey : 
Lead me on, though fierce temp- 
tations 
Stand and meet me in the way ; 
When I fail and faint, my mother, 
Ora pro me. 

Then shall I — if thou, Mary, 

Art my strong support and 

stay — 

Fear nor feel the threefold danger 

Standing forth in dread array ; 

Now and ever shield and guard me, 

Ora pro me. 

When my eyes are slowly closing. 
And I fade from earth away, 

And when Death, the stern de- 
stroyer, 
Claims my body as his prey, — 

Claim my soul, and then, sweet 



Mary, 



Ora pro me. 



THE CHURCH IN 1849. 

MIGHTY Mother, hearken ! for 
thy foes 
Gather around thee, and ex- 
ulting cry 
That thine old strength is gone 
and thou must die. 
Pointing with fierce rejoicing to 

thy woes. 
And is it so ? The raging whirl- 
wind blows 
No stronger now than it has 

done of yore : 
Rebellion, strife, and sin have 
been before ; 
The same companions whom thy 

Master chose. 
We too rejoice : we know thy 
might is more 
When to the world thy glory 
seemeth dim ; 
Nor can HelFs gates prevail to 
conquer Thee, 
Who hearest over all the voice 
of Him 
Who chose thy first and great- 
est Prince should be 
A fisher on the Lake of Galilee. 



FISHERS OF MEN. 

The boats are out, and the storm 
is high; 
We knee) on the shore and 
pray. 



THE OLD YEARS BLESSING, 



2ir 



The Star of the Sea shines still in 
the sky, 
And God is our help and stay. 



The fishers are weak, and the 
tide is strong. 
And their boat seems slight 
and frail ; 
But St. Peter has steered it for 
them so long. 
It would weather a rougher 
gale. 



St. John the Beloved sails with 
them too, 
And his loving words they 
hear ; 
So with tender trust the boat^s 
brave crew 
Neither doubt, or pause, or fear. 



He who sent them fishing is with 
them still, 
And He bids them cast their 
net ; 
And He has the power their boat 
to fill. 
So we know He will do it yet. 



They have cast their nets again 
and again, 
And now call to us on shore ; 
If our feeble prayers seem only 
in vain. 
We will pray and pray the 
more. 



Though the storm is loud, and 
our voice is drowned 
By the roar of the wind and 
sea. 
We know that more terrible 
tempests found 
Their Ruler, O Lord, in Thee! 

See, they do not pause, they are 
toiling on, 

Yet they cast a loving glance 
On the star above, ai!id ever anon 

Look up through the blue ex- 



Mary, listen ! for danger is 
nigh. 
And we know thou art near 
us then ; 
For thy Son's dear servants to 
thee we cry. 
Sent out as fishers of men. 

O, watch, — as of old thou didst 
watch the boat 
On the Galilean lake, — 
And grant that the fishers may 
keep afloat 
Till the nets, overcharged, shall 
break. 



THE OLD YEAR'S BLESS- 
ING. 

I AM fading from you, 
But one draweth near, 

Called the Angel-guardian 
Of the coming year. 



218 



EVENING CHANT, 



If my gifts and graces 

Coldly you forget, 
Let the New- Year's Angel 

Bless and crown them yet. 

For we work together ; 

He and I are one : 
Let him end and perfect 

All I leave undone. 

I brought Good Desires, 
Though as yet but seeds ; 

Let the New- Year make them 
Blossom into Deeds. 

I brought Joy to brighten 

Many happy days ; 
Let the New- Year's Angel 

Turn it into Praise. 

If I gave you Sickness, 
If I brought you Care, 

Let him make one Patience, 
And the other Prayer. 

Where I brought you Sorrow, 
Through his care, at length, 

It may rise triumphant 
Into future Strength. 

If I brought you Plenty, 

All wealth's bounteous charms, 
Shall not the New Angel 

Turn them into Alms ? 

I gave Health and Leisure, 
Skill to dream and plan ; 



Let him make them nobler ; — 
Work for God and Man. 

If I broke your Idols, 

Showed you they were dus*. 
Let him turn the Knowledge 

Into heavenly Trust. 

If I brought Temptation, 

Let sin die away 
Into boundless Pity 

For all hearts that stray. 

If your list of Errors 
Dark and long appears, 

Let this new-born Monarch 
Melt them into Tears. 

May you hold this Angel 
Dearer than the last, — 

So I bless his Future, 

While he crowns my Past* 



EVENING CHANT. 

Strew before our Lady's Picture 
Roses, — flushing like the sky 

Where the lingering western 
cloudlets 
Watch the daylight die. 

Violets steeped in dreamy odors. 
Humble as the Mother mild, 

"Blue as were her eyes when 
watching 
O'er her sleeping Child. 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL, 



219 



Strew white Lilies, pure and spot- 
less, 
Bending on their stalks of 
green, 
Bending down with tender pity, — 
Like our Holy Queen. 

Let the flowers spend their fra- 
grance 
On our Lady's own dear 
shrine. 
While we claim her gracious 
helping 
Near her Son divine. 

Strew before our Lady's picture 
Gentle flowers, fair and sweet ; 

Hope, and Fear, and Joy, and 
Sorrow, 
Place, too, at her feet. 

Hark ! the Angelus is ringing, — 
Ringing through the fading 
light. 

In the heart of every Blossom 
Leave a prayer to-night. 

All night long will Mary listen. 
While our pleadings fond and 
deep 

On their scented breath are rising 
For us — while we sleep. 

Scarcely through the starry si- 
lence 
Shall one trembling petal stir. 
While they breathe their own 
sweet fragrance 
And our prayers — to Her. 



Peace to every heart that loves 
her ! 
All her children shall be blest : 
While She prays and watches for 
us. 
We will trust and rest. 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 

The moon that now is shining 

In skies so blue and bright. 
Shone ages since on Shepherds 

Who watched their flocks by 
night. 
There was no sound upon the 
earth. 

The azure air was still, 
The sheep in quiet clusters lay 

Upon the grassy hill. 

When lo ! a white-winged Angel 

The watchers stood before, 
And told how Christ was born 
on earth, 

For mortals to adore ; 
He bade the trembling Shepherds 

Listen, nor be afraid. 
And told how in a manger 

The glorious Child was laid. 



When suddenly in the Heavens 
Appeared an Angel band, 

(The while in reverent wonder 
The Syrian Shepherds stand.) 



220 



OUR TITLES. 



And all the bright host chanted 
Words that shall never cease, — 

Glory to God in the highest, 
On earth good-will and peace ! 

The vision in the heavens 

Faded, and all was still. 
And the wondering shepherds 
left their flocks. 

To feed upon the hill : 
Towards the blessed city 

Quickly their course they held, 
And in a lowly stable 

Virgin and Child beheld. 

Beside a humble manger 

Was the Maiden Mother mild. 
And in her arms her Son divine, 

A new-born Infant, smiled. 
No shade of future sorrow 

From Calvary then was cast ; 
Only the glory was revealed. 

The suffering was not passed. 

The Eastern kings before him 
knelt. 
And rarest offerings brought ; 
The shepherds worshipped and 
adored 
The wonders God had 
wrought : 
They saw the crown for Israel's 
King, 
The future's glorious part : — 
But all these things the Mother 
kept 
And pondered in her heart. 

Now we that Maiden Mother 
The Queen of Heaven call ; 



And the Child we call our Jesus, 

Saviour and Judge of all. 
But the star that shone in Beth- 
lehem 
Shines still, and shall not 
cease. 
And we listen still to the tidings, 
Of Glory and of Peace. 



OUR TITLES. 

Are we not Nobles ? we who 
trace 
Our pedigree so high 
That God for us and for our race 

Created Earth and Sky, 
And Light and Air and Time 
and Space, 
To serve us and then die. 

Are we not Princes'? we who 
stand 
As heirs beside the Throne ; 
We who can call the promised 
Land 
Our Heritage, our own ; 
And answer to no less command 
Than God's and His alone. 

Are we not Kings ? both night 
and day. 
From early until late. 
About our bed, about our way, 

A guard of Angels wait ; 
And so we watch and work and 
pray 
In more than royal state. 



MINISTERING ANGELS. 



221 



Are we not holy ? Do not start : 
It is God's sacred will 

To call us Temples set apart 
His Holy Ghost may fill : 

Our very food .... hush, my 
Heart, 
Adore IT and be still ! 

Are we not more ? our Life shall 
be 

Immortal and divine. 
The nature Mary gave to Thee, 

Dear Jesus, still is Thine ; 
Adoring in Thy Heart, I see 

Such blood as beats in mine. 

O God, that we can dare to fail, 
And dare to say we must ! 

O God, that we can ever trail 
Such banners in the dust. 

Can let such starry honors pale, 
And such a Blazon rust ! 

Shall we upon such Titles bring 
The taint of sin and shame ? 

Shall we, the children of the 
King 
Who hold so grand a claim, 

Tarnish by any meaner thing 
The glory of our name ? 



MINISTERING ANGELS. 

Angels of light, spread your 
bright wings and keep 
Near me at morn : 



Nor in the starry eve, nor mid- 
night deep. 
Leave me forlorn. 



From all dark spirits of unholy 
power 
Guard my weak heart, 
Circle around me in each peril- 
ous hour, 
And take my part. 

From all foreboding thoughts 
and dangerous fears, 
Keep me secure ; 
Teach me to hope, and through 
the bitterest tears 
Still to endure. 

If lonely in the road so fair and 
wide 
My feet should stray. 
Then through a rougher, safer 
pathway guide 
Me day by day. 

Should my heart faint at its un- 
equal strife, 
O still be near ! 
Shadow the perilous sweetness 
of this life 
With holy fear. 

Then leave me not alone in this 
bleak world, 
Where'er I roam. 
And at the end, with your bright 
wings unfurled, 
O take me home ! 



222 



THE SHRINES OF MARY. 



THE SHRINES OF MARY. 

There are many shrines of Our 
Lady, 

In different lands and climes, 
Where I can remember kneeling 

In old and beloved times. 

They arise now like stars before 
me, 
Through the long, long night 
of years ; 
Some are bright with a heavenly 
radiance, 
And others shine out through 
tears. 

They arise too like mystical flow- 
ers, 
All different, and all the 
same, — 
As they lie in my heart like a gar- 
land 
That is wreathed round Mary's 
name. 

Thus each shrine has two conse- 
crations ; 

One all the faithful can trace, 
But one is for me and me only, 

Holding my soul with its grace. 



A shrine in a quaint old Chapel 

Defaced and broken with years. 

Where the pavement is worn 

with kneeling, 

And the step with kisses and 

tears. 



She is there in the dawn of morn- 
ing, 
When the day is blue and 
bright. 
In the shadowy evening twlighti 
And the silent, starry night. 

Through the dim old painted win- 
dow 
The Hours look down, and 
shed 
A different glory upon her, 
Violet, purple, and red. 

And there — in that quaint old 
Chapel 
As I stood one day alone — 
Came a royal message from Mary. 
That claimed my life as her 
own. 

II. 

I remember a vast Cathedral 
Which holds the struggle and 
strife 
Of a grand and powerful city, 
As the heart holds the throb of 
a life. 

Where the ebb and the flow of 
passion. 
And sin in its rushing tide. 
Have dashed on that worn stone 
chapel. 
Dashed, and broken, and died. 

And above the voices of sorrow 
And the tempter's clamoroua 
din, 



THE SHRINES OF MARY, 



223 



The voice of Mary has spoken 
And conquered the pain and 
the sin: 



For long ages and generations 
Have come there to strive and 
to pray ; 
She watched and guided them 
living, 
And does not forget them to- 
day. 

And once, in that strange, vast 
City 

I stood in its great stone square, 
Alone in the crowd and the turmoil 

Of the pitiless Southern glare ; 

And a grief was upon my spirit, 
Which I could not cast away, 

It weighed on my heart all the 
night-time. 
And it fretted my life all day. 

So then to that calm, cool refuge 
I turned from the noisy street, 

And I carried my burden of sor- 
row — 
And left it at Mary's feet. 



III. 

I remember a lonely chapel 
With a tender claim upon me ; 

It was built for the sailors only. 
And they call it the Star of the 
Sea. 



And the murmuring chant of the 
Vespers 
Seems caught up by the wail- 
ing breeze, 
And the throb of the organ is 
echoed 
By the rush of the silver seas. 



And the votive hearts and the 
anchors 
Tell of danger and peril past ; 
Of the hope deferred and the wait- 
ing. 
And the comfort that came at 
last. 



I too had a perilous venture ^ 

On a stormy and treacherous 

main, 

And I too was pleading to Mary 

From the depths of a heart in 

pain. 

It was not a life in peril, — 

O God, it was far, far more ! 
And the whirlpool of Hell's 
temptations 
Lay between the wreck and the 
shore. 



Thick mists hid the light of the 

beacon, 

And the voices of warning 

were dumb ; 

So I knelt by the Altar of Mary, 

And told her Her hour was 



224 



THE SHRINES OF MARY. 



For she waits till Earth's aid for- 
sakes us, 
Till we know our own efforts 
are vain ; 
And we wait, in our faithless 
blindness, 
Till no chance but her prayers 
remain. 

And now in that seaside chapel 

By that humble village shrine 

Hangs a heart of silver, that tells 

her 

Of the love and the gladness 

of mine. 



IV. 

There is one far shrine I remem- 
ber 
In the years that are fled away. 
Where the grand old mountains 
are guarding 
The glories of night and day. 

Where the earth in her rich, glad 
beauty 
Seems made for our Lady's 
throne, 
And the stars in their radiant 
clusters 
Seem fit for her crown alone. 

Where the balmy breezes of sum- 
mer 
On their odorous pinions bear 



The fragrance of orange-blos- 
soms. 
And the chimes of the Convent 
prayer. 

There I used to ask for Her bless- 
ing 
As each summer twilight was 
gray; 
There I used to kneel at her Altar 
At each blue, calm dawn of 
day. 

There in silence was Victory 
granted, 
And the terrible strife begun, 
That only with Her protection 
Could be dared, or suffered, or 
won. 

If I love the name of that Altar, 
And the thought of those days 
gone by. 
It is only the Heart of Mary 
And my own that remember 
why. 



V. 

Where long ages of toil and of 
sorrow. 
And Poverty's weary doom. 
Have clustered together so closely 
That life seems shadowed with 
gloom. 

Where crime that lurks in the 
darkness 
And vice that glares at the day 



THE SHRINES OF MARY. 



225 



Make the spirit of hope grow 
weary, 
And the spirit of love decay, 

Where the feet of the wretched 
and sinful 
Have closest and oftenest trod, 
Is a house, as humble as any. 
Yet we call it the House of 
God. 

It is one of our Lady's Chapels ; 
And though poorer than all 
the rest. 
Just because of the sin and the 
sorrow, 
I think she loves it the best. 

There are no rich gifts on the 
Altar, 
The shrine is humble and bare, 
Yet the poor and the sick and the 
tempted 
Think their home and their 
heaven is there. 

And before that humble Altar 
Where Our Lady of Sorrow 
stands, 

I knelt with a weary longing. 
And I laid a vow in her hands. 

And I know, when I enter softly 

And pause at that shrine to 

pray, 

That the fret and the strife and 

the burden 

Will be softened and laid away. 



And the Prayer and the Vow that 
sealed it 
Have bound my soul to that 
shrine. 
For the Mother of Sorrows re- 
members 
Her promise, and waits for 
mine. 



It is one long chaplet of memo- 
ries 
Tender and true and sweet. 
That gleam in the Past and the 
Distance 
Like lamps that burn at her 
feet. 

Like stars that will shine forever, 
For time cannot touch or stir 

The graces that Mary has given, 
Or the trust that we give to 
her. 

Past griefs are perished and over, 
Past joys have vanished and 
died, 

Past loves are fled and forgotten. 
Past hopes have been laid aside. 

Past fears have faded in daylight. 
Past sins have melted in 
tears ; — 
One Love and Remembrance 
only 
Seems alive in those dead old 
old years. 



226 



THE HOMELESS POOR. 



So wherever I look in the dis- 
tance, 
And whenever I turn to the 
Past, 
There is always a shrine of Mary 
Each brighter still than the last. 



I will ask for one grace, O 
Mother ! 
And will leave the rest to thy 
will : 
From one shrine of thine to an- 
other, 
Let my Life be a Pilgrimage 
still ! 



At each one, O Mother of Mercy ! 
Let still more of thy love be 
given. 
Till I kneel at the last and 
brightest, — 
The Throne of the Queen of 
Heaven. 



THE HOMELESS POOK. 

Calm the city lay in midnight 
silence, 
Deep on streets and roofs the 
snow lay white ; 
Then I saw an Angel spread his 
pinions 
Rising up to Heaven to meet 
the night. 



In his hands he bore two crowns 
of lilies, 
Sweet with sweetness not of 
earthly flowers, 
But a coronal of prayers for 
Heaven 
He had gathered through the 
evening hours ; — 

He had gathered in that mighty 
city 
Through whose streets and 
pathways he had trod, ' 

Till he wove into a winter gar- 
land 
Prayers that faithful hearts 
had sent to God. 

Through the azure midnight he 
was rising ; 
As 1 watched, I saw his upward 
flight 
Checked by a mighty Angel, 
whose stern challenge. 
Like a silver blast, rang 
through the night. 

Then strange words upon the 

silence broke. 
And I listened as the Angels 

spoke. 



THE ANGEL OF PRAYERS. 

" I have come from wandering 
through the city, 
I have been to seek a garland 
meet 



THE HOMELESS POOR. 



227 



To be placed before His throne 
in Heaven, 
To be laid at His dear Moth- 
er's feet. 

" I have been to one of England's 
Havens, — 
To a Home for peace and 
honor planned. 
Where the kindly lights of joy 
and duty 
Meet and make the glory of 
the land. 

" There I heard the ring of 
children's laughter 
Hushed to eager silence ; I 
could see 
How the father stroked their 
golden tresses 
As they clustered closer round 
his knee. 

" And I heard him tell, with lov- 
ing honor. 
How the wanderers to Bethle- 
hem came, 
And I saw each head in rever- 
ence bowing 
When he named the Holy 
Child's dear name. 

<< Then he told how houseless, 
homeless, friendless. 
They had wandered wearily 
and long, — 
Of the manger where our Lord 
was cradled. 
Of the Shepherds listening to 
our song. 



*^ As he spoke, I heard his accents 
falter, 
And I saw each childish heart 
was stirred 
With a loving throb of tender 
pity 
At the sorrowful, sweet tale 
they heard. 

"As the children sang their 
Christmas carol 
I could see the mother's eyes 
grow dim. 
And she held her baby closer, — 
feeling 
Most for Mary through her 
love for him. 

" So I gathered from that home, 
as flowers. 
All the tender, loving words I 
heard 
Given this night to Jesus and to 
Mary, — 
Look at them, and say if I 
have erred." 



THE ANGEL OF DEEDS. 

" In that very street, at that same 
hour. 
In the bitter air and drifting 
sleet. 
Crouching in a doorway was a 
mother. 
With her children shuddering 
at her feet. 



228 



THE HOMELESS POOR, 



" She was silent ; — who would 
hear her pleading ? 
Men and beasts were housed ; 
but she must stay 
Houseless in the great and piti- 
less city, 
Till the dawning of the winter 
day. 

" Homeless — while her fellow- 
men are resting 
Calm and blest : their very 
dogs are fed, 
Warm and sheltered, and their 
sleeping children 
Safely nestled in each little bed. 

" She can only draw her poor 
rags closer 
Bound her wailing baby, — 
closer hold 
One, the least and sickliest, — 
while the others 
Creep together, tired, hungry, 
cold. 

" What are these poor flowers 
thou hast gathered ? 
Cast such fragile, worthless 
tokens by : 
Will He prize mere words of love 
and honor 
While His Homeless Poor are 
left to die ? 

" He has said — His truths are all 
eternal — 
What He said both has been 
and shall be, — 



What ye have not done to these my 
poor ones, 
Lo ! ye have not done it unto 
Me.'' 

Then I saw the Angel with the 
flowers 
Bow his head and answer, " It 
is well," 
As he cast a wreath of lilies 
earthward. 
And I sav/ them wither as they 
fell. 

Once again the Angel raised his 

head. 
Smiled and showed the other 

wreath and said : — 



THE ANGEL OF PRAYERS. 

<* I have been where, kneeling at 
the Altar, 
Hushed in reverent awe, a 
faithful throng 
Have this night adored the Holy 
Presence, 
Worshipping with incense, 
prayer, and song. 

" Every head was bowed in lov- 
ing honor, 
Every heart with loving awe 
was thrilled ; 
Earth and things of earth seemed 
all forgotten ; 
He was there — and meaner 
thoughts were stilled. 



THE HOMELESS POOR. 



229 



" There on many souls in strait 
and peril 
Did that gracious Benediction 
fall, 
With the strength or peace or 
joy or warning 
He could give, who loved and 
knew them all. 

<' There was silence, but all 
hearts were speaking : 
When the deepest hush of 
silence fell, 
On the fragrant air and breath- 
less longing 
Came the echo of one silver bell. 

*' On each spirit such a flood of 
sweetness 
Broke — as we who dwell in 
Heaven feel. 
Then the Adoremus in eternum, 
Jubilant and strong, rolled 
peal on peal. 

" They had given holy adoration, 
Tender words of love and 
praise ; all bright 
With the dew of contrite tears — 
such blossoms 
I am bearing to His throne to- 
night." 



THE ANGEL OF DEEDS. 

" Pause again : these flowers are 
fair and lovely. 
Radiant in their perfume and 
their bloom ; 



But not far from where you 
plucked this garland 
Is a squalid place in ghastly 
gloom. 

" There black waters in their 
luring silence 
Under loathsome arches crawl 
and creep. 
There the rats and vermin herd 
together .... 
There God's poor ones sometimes 
come to sleep. 

*< There the weary come, who 
through the daylight 
Pace the town, and crave for 
work in vain ; 
There they crouch in cold and 
rain and hunger, 
Waiting for another day of 
pain. 

" In slow darkness creeps the 
dismal river ; 
From its depths looks up a 
sinful rest ; 
Many a weary, baffled, hopeless 
wanderer 
Has it drawn into its treacher- 
ous breast. 

" There is near another River flow- 
ing, 
Black with guilt, and deep as 
hell and sin ; 
On its brink even sinners stand 
and shudder, — 
Cold and hunger goad the 
homeless in. 



230 



THE HOMELESS POOR. 



" Yet these poor ones to His 
heart are dearer 
For their grief and peril : dear 
indeed 
Would have been the love that 
sought and fed them, 
Gave them warmth and shelter 
in their need. 

" For His sake those tears and 
prayers are offered 
Which you bear as flowers to 
His throne ; 
Better still would be the food and 
shelter, 
Given for Him and given to 
His own. 

" Praise with loving deeds is dear 
and holy, 
Words of praise will never 
serve instead : 
Lo ! you offer music, hymn, and 
incense — 
When He has not where to lay 
His head.'* 

Then once more the Angel with 
the Flowers 
Bowed his head, and answered, 
" It is well," 
As he cast a wreath of lilies 
earthwards, 
And I saw them wither as they 
fell. 

So the Vision faded, and the 
Angels 
Melted far into the starry sky ; 



By the light upon the eastern 
Heaven 
I could see another day was 
nigh. 

Was it quite a dream 1 O God ! 
we love Him ; 
All our love, though weak, is 
given to Him ; — 
Why is it our hearts have been 
so hardened T 
Why is it our eyes have been 
so dim ? 

Still as for Himself the Infant 
Jesus 
In His little ones asks food 
and rest, — 
Still as for His Mother He is 
pleading 
Just as when He lay upon her 
breast. 

Jesus, then, and Mary still are 
with us, — 
Night will find the Child and 
Mother near. 
Waiting for the shelter we deny 
them, 
While we tell them that we 
hold them dear. 

Help us. Lord ! not these Thy 
poor ones only, 
They are with us always, and 
shall be: — 
Help the blindness of our hearts, 
and teach us 
In Thy homeless ones to suc- 
cor Thee. 



MILLTS EXPIATION. 



231 



MILLY'S EXPIATION. 

THE priest's story. 
I. 

There are times when all these 
terrors 
Seem to fade, and fade away, 
Like a nightmare's ghastly pres- 
ence 
In the truthful dawn of day. 
There are times, too, when be- 
fore me 
They arise, and seem to hold 
In their grasp my very being 
With the deadly strength of 
old. 
Till my spirit quails within me. 
And my very heart grows cold. 



For I watched when Cold and 
Hunger, 
Like wild beasts that sought 
for prey. 
With a savage glare crept on- 
ward 
Until men were turned at 
bay. 
You have never seen those hunt- 
ers, 
Who have never known that 
fear, 
When life costs a crust, and 
costing 
Even that is still too dear : 
But, you know, I lived in Ire- 
land 
In the fatal famine year. 



Yes, those days are now forgot- 
ten ; 
God be thanked! men can 
forget ; 
Time's great gift can heal the 
fevers 
Called Remembrance and Re- 
gret. 
Man despises such forgetting ; 

But I think the Angels know, 
Since each hour brings new bur- 
dens, 
We must let the old ones 
go,— 
Very weak or very noble 

Are the few who cling to woe. 



As a child, I lived in Connaught, 
And from dawn till set of sun 
Played with all the peasant- 
children. 
So I knew them every one. 
There was not a cabin near us. 

But I had my welcome there ; 
Though of money-help in those 
days 
We had none ourselves to 
spare. 
Yet the neighbors had no trouble 
That I did not know and 
share. 



O that great estate ! the Land- 
lord 
Was abroad, a good man too ; 



232 



MILLTS EXPIATION. 



And the agent was not cruel, 

But he had hard things to do. 
As a child I saw great suffering 
Which I could not under- 
stand, 
So I went hack as a man there 
With redress and helping 
planned ; 
But I found, on reaching Con- 
naught, 
There was famine in the land. 



VI. 

Well, I worked, I toiled, I la- 
bored ; 
So, thank God, did many 
more ; 
But I had a special pity 

For the place I knew before. 
It was changed ; the old were 
vanished ; 
Those who had been workers 
there 
Were grown old now ; and the 
children. 
With their sunny eyes and 
hair. 
Were a ragged army, fighting 
Hand to hand with black de- 
spair. 



- There were some I sought out, 
longing 
For the old familiar face. 
For the hearty Irish welcome 
To the well-known corner 
place ; 



So I saw them, and I found it. 

But of all whom I had known, 
I cared most to see the Connors . 

Their poor cabin stood alone 
In the deep heart of the valley, 

By the old gray fairy stone. 



They were decent people, hold- 
ing, 
Though no richer than the 
rest. 
Still a place beyond their neigh- 
bors, 
With a tacit, unconfessed 
Pride — it may have been — 
that held them 
From complaint when things 
went ill : 
I might guess when work was 
slacker. 
But no shadow seemed to chill 
The warm welcome which they 
offered ; 
It was warm and cheerful still. 



Yet their home was changed : the 
father 
And the mother were no more; 
And the brothers, Phil and Pat- 
rick, 
Kept starvation from the door. 
There were many little faces 
Gathered round the old hearth 
stone ; 



MILLTS EXPIATION. 



233 



But the children I had played 
with 
Were the men and women 
grown ; 
Phil and Patrick, Kate and Milly, 
Were the ones whom I had 
known. 



Kate was grown, but little al- 
tered. 
Just the sunburnt, rosy face, 
With its merry smile, whose shin- 
ing 
Seemed to light the darkest 
place. 
But all, young and old, held 
Milly 
As their dearest and their best, 
From the baby orphan-sisters 
Whom she hushed upon her 
breast, — 
She it was who bore the burdens. 
Love and sorrow, for the rest. 



Yes, I knew the tall slight figure. 

And the face so pale and fair. 
Crowned with long, long plaited 
tresses 

Of her shining yellow hair ; 
She was very calm and tender. 

Warm and brave, yet just and 
wise. 
Meeting grief with tender pity. 

Sin with sorrowful surprise : 
I have fancied Angels watch us 

With such sad and loving eyes. 



Well, I questioned past and fut- 
ure. 
Heard of plans and hopes and 
fears ; 
How all prospects grew still 
darker 
With the shade of coming 
years. 
Milly still deferred her marriage ; 
But the brothers urged of late 
She would leave them and old 
Ireland, 
And at least secure her fate ; 
Michael pleaded too, — but vain- 

Milly chose to wait and wait. 



Though all liked her cousin Mi- 
chael, — 
He was steady, a good son, — 
Yet we wondered at the treasure 
Which his careless heart had 
w^on. 
Ah, he was not worth her ! Milly 
Must have guessed our thought 
in part. 
For she feigned such special def- 
erence 
For his judgment and his 
heart : 
The deiiance and the answer 
Of instinctive woman's art. 



But my duties would not let me 
Stay in one place ; I must go 



234 



MTLLT8 EXPIATION, 



Where the want and need were 
greatest ; 
So I travelled to and fro. 
And I could not give the bounty 
Which was meant for all to 
share, 
Save in scanty portions, counting 
What each hamlet had to 
bear ; 
^o my old home and old com- 
rades 
Had to struggle with despair. 



/ could note at every visit 
How all suffered more and 
more ; 
How the rich were growing ' 
poorer. 
The poor, poorer than before. 
And each time that I returned 
there, 
I could see the famine spread ; 
Till 1 heard of each fresh horror. 
Each new tale of fear and dread. 
With more pity for the living. 
More rejoicing for the dead. 



Yet through all the bitter trials 

Of that long and fearful time, 
Still the suffering came untended 

By its hideous sister, Crime. 
Earthly things seemed grown less 
potent. 

Fellow-sufferers grown more 
dear, 
Murmurs even hushed in silence, 

Just as if> m listening fear, 



While God spoke so loud in sor- 
row, 
They all felt He must be near. 

XVII. 

But one day — I well remember 
How the warm soft autumn 
breeze. 
And the gladness of the sunshine, 
And the calmness of the seas. 
Seemed in strange unnatural con- 
trast 
To the tale of woe and dread 
Which I heard with painful won- 
der, — 
That the a^ent — I have said 
That he was not harsh or cruel -"- 
Had been shot at, and was 
dead. 

XVIII. 

For I felt in that small hamlet 

More or less I knew them all, 
And on some I cared for, surely, 

Must this bitter vengeance fall ; 
But I little dreamed how bitter, 

And the grief how great and 
wide, ' 

Till I heard that Michael Connor 

Was accused, and would be 
tried 
For this base and bloody murde^ ; 

Then I cried out that they lied .' 

XIX. 

He, who might be weak and reck 
less. 
Yet was gentle and humane ; 



MILLT8 EXPIATION. 



235 



He who scarcely had the courage 

To inflict a needful pain, — 
Why, it could not be! And 
Milly, 
With her honest, noble pride, 
And her faith and love, God help 
her! 
It were better she had died. 
So I thought, and thought, and 
pondered, 
Till I knew they must have 
lied. 



There was want and death and 
hunger 
Near me then ; but this great 
crime 
Seemed to haunt me with its ter- 
ror. 
And grow worse and worse 
with time. 
Till I could not bear it longer, 
And I turned my steps once 
more 
To the hamlet ; did not slacken 
Till I reached the cabin-door : 
Then I paused ; I never dreaded 
The kind welcome there be- 
fore. 

XXI. 

So I entered. Kate was sitting 
By the empty hearth ; around 
Were the children, ragged, hun- 
gry, 
Crouching silent on the 
ground. 



But a wail of grief and sorrow 
Rose, and Katie hid her face. 

Sobbing out she had no welcome. 
For a curse was on tne place, 

And their honest name was cov- 
ered 
With another's black disgrace. 



Then I soothed her; asked for 
Milly; 

And was told she was away ; 
Gone as witness to the trial. 

And the trial was that day. 
But all knew, so Katie told me, 

Hope or comfort there was 
none ; 
They were sure to find him guilty, 

And before to-morrow's sun 
He must die. I dared not loiter, 

For the trial had begun. 



Yet I asked how Milly bore it ; 
And Kate told me some strang^i 
gleam 
Of wild hope seemed living ir 
her. 
But all knew it was a dream . 
Then I mounted ; rode on faster, n 
Faster still; the way was 
long; 
Hope and anger, fear and pity, 
Each by turns were loud and) 
strong, 
And above all, infinite pity 
For the sorrow and the wrong. 



236 



MILLTS EXPIATION. 



So I rode and rode, and entered 

On the crowded market-place. 
There was wonder, too, and pity 

Upon many a hungry face ; 
But I pushed on quicker, quicker, 

Every moment held a fate. 
As the great town-clock struck 
mid-day, 

I alighted at the gate : 
No, the trial was not over ; 

I was not, thank God, too late. 



For I hoped — the chance was 
meagre — 
That my true and earnest 
word 
Might avail him, if the question 
Of his former life was stirred ; 
So the crowd believed : they 
parted. 
Let me take a foremost place. 
Till I saw a shaking figure 

And a terror-stricken face : 
Was it guilt, or only terror ? 
Fear of death, or of disgrace ? 



But a sudden breathless silence 
Hushed the lowest whisper 
there. 
And I saw a slight young fig- 
ure 
Crowned with yellow plaited 
hair, 



Rise, and answer as they called 
her; 

Rise before them all, and stand 
With no quiver in her accent. 

And no trembling in her hand. 
Just a flush upon her forehead 

Like a burning crimson brand. 



Slowly, steadily, and calmly, 
Then the awful words werp 
said. 
Calling God in Heaven to wit- 
ness 
To the truth of what she said 
As the oath in solemn order 

On the reverent silence broke, 
Some strange terror and misgiy 
ing 
With a sudden start awoke : 
What fear ^vas it seized upon 
me 
As I heard the words she 
spoke ? 



XXVIII. 

As she stood there, looking on- 
ward, 

Onward, neither left nor right. 
Did she see some deadly purpose 

Buried, hidden out of sight *? 
Did she see a blighting shadow 

From the cloudy future cast ? 
Or reluctant fading from her 

Right and honor, — fading 
fast 



MILLTS EXPIATION. 



237 



All her youth's remembered les- 
sons, 
All the honest, noble past ? 



But her accents never faltered. 
As she swore the day and 
time. 
At the hour of the murder, 

At the moment of the crime. 
She had spoken with the prison- 
er ... . 
Then a gasping joyful sigh 
Ban through all the court ; they 
knew it, — 
Now the prisoner would not 
die ... . 
And I knew that God in Heaven 
Had been witness to a lie ! 



I.'hen I turned and looked at 
Michael ; 
Saw a rush of wonder stir 
Through his soul ; perplexed, be- 
wildered. 
He looked strangely up at her. 
Would he speak ? could he have 
courage ? 
Where she fell, could he be 
strong ? 
Where she sinned, and sinned to 
save him. 
Could he thrust away the 
wrong ? 
That one moment's strange Re- 
vulsion 
Seemed to me an hour long. 



XXXI. 

And I saw the sudden shrinking 
In her brothers ; wondering 
scorn 
In the glance they cast upon her 
Showed they knew she was 
forsworn. 
They were stern, by want made 
sterner ; 
But the spot where Milly 
came 
In their hearts was soft and ten- 
der 
For her dear and honored 
name : 
Now the very love was hardened. 
And the honor turned to 
shame. 



So I left the place, nor lingered 

To see Michael, or to feign 
Joy where joy was mixed so 
strangely 
Both with pity and with pain. 
Many weeks I toiled and labored 
Far from there, but night and 
day 
One sad memory dwelt beside me. 
On my heart one shadow 
lay; — 
Light was faded, glory tarnished, 
And a soul was cast away. 



It was evening ; and the sunset 
Glowed and glittered on the 
seas, 



238 



MILLTS EXPIATION. 



When a great ship heaved its an- 
chor, 
Loosed its sails to meet the 
breeze, 
Sailing, sailing to the westward. 
Eyes were wet and hearts 
were sore; 
Many a heart that left its coun- 
try, 
Many a heart upon the shore. 
Knew that parting was forever, 
Said farewell forevermore. 



In that sad and silent evening. 
On the sunny, quiet beach, 
Lingered little groups of watch- 
ers, 
But with hearts too full for 
speech. 
As I passed, I knew so many, 
That my heart ached too that 
night. 
For the yearning love, that, gaz- 
ing, 
Strained to see the last faint 
sight 
Of the great ship, sailing west- 
ward, 
Down the track of evening 
light. 

XXXV. 

Ncne were lonely though, — one 
sorrow 
Drew that evening heart to 
heart ; 
Only far from all the others 
One lone woman stood apart. 



There was something in the fig- 
ure, 
Tall and slender, standing 
there. 
That I knew — yet no, I doubt- 
ed— 
That forlorn and helpless air ; 
When a gleam of sunset glory 
Showed her yellow braided 
hair. 



It was Milly : ere I sought her. 
One who knew her, standing 

by, 

Said, '< Her people sailed from 
Ireland, 
And she stayed, but none knew 
why. 
They were strong ; in that far 
country 
Work such men were sure to 
find ; 
They had offered to take Milly, 
Pressed her often, and beeb 
kind ; 
They had taken the young chil- 
dren, 
Only she was left behind. 



" Michael, too, was with them : 
doubly 
Had his fame been cleared by 
time; 
For the murderer, lately dying. 
Had confessed and owned the 
crime : 



A CASTLE IN THE AIR, 



239 



And yet Milly, none knew where- 
fore, 
Broke her plighted troth to 
him ; 
Parted, too, with all her loved 
ones 
For some strange and selfish 
whim." . . . 
O, my heart was sore for Milly, 
And I felt my eyes grow dim; 



XXXVIII. 

She is still in Ireland ; dwelling 

Near the old place, and alone ; 
Just the same kind, loving spirit, 

But the old light heart is flown. 
When the humble toil is over 

For her scanty daily bread, 
Then she turns to nurse the 
suffering, 

Or to pray beside the dead : 
Many, many thankful blessings 

Fall each day upon her head. 



There is no distress or sorrow 

Milly does not try to cheer ; 
There is never fever raging 

But you always find her near ; 
And she knows — at least I think 
so — 

That I guess her secret pain^ 
Why her Love and why her Sor- 
row 

Need be purified from stain, 
Need in special consecration 

Be restored to God again. 



A CASTLE IN THE AIR. 

I BUILT myself a castle. 
So noble, grand, and fair ; 

I built myself a castle, 
A castle — in the air. 

The fancies of my twilights 
That fade in sober truth. 

The longing of my sorrow. 
And the vision of my youth ; 

The plans of joyful futures ; 

So dear they used to seem ; 
The prayer that rose unbidden, 

Half prayer — and half a 
dream ; 

The hopes that died unuttered 
Within this heart of mine ; — 

For all these tender treasures 
My castle was the shrine. 

I looked at all the castles 
That rise to grace the land, 

But I never saw another 
So stately or so grand. 

And now you see it shattered. 
My castle in the air ; i 

It lies, a dreary ruin. 
All desolate and bare. 

I cannot build another, 
I saw that one decay ; 

And strength and heart and 
courage 
Died out the self-same day. 



240 



A LEGEND, 



Yet still, beside that ruin, 

With hopes as deep and fond, 

I waited with an infinite longing, 
Only — I look beyond. 



PEE PACEM AD LUCEM. 

I DO not ask, O Lord, that life 
may be 
A pleasant road ; 
I do not ask that Thou wouldst 
take from me 
Aught of its load ; 

I do not ask that flowers should 
always spring 
Beneath my feet ; 
I know too well the poison and 
the sting 
Of things too sweet. 

For one thing only. Lord, dear 
Lord, I plead. 
Lead me aright — 
Though strength should falter, 
and though heart should 
bleed — 
Through Peace to Light. 

I do not ask, O Lord, that thou 
shouldst shed 
Full radiance here ; 
Give but a ray of peace, that I 
may tread 
Without a fear. 



I do not ask my cross to under- 
stand. 
My way to see ; 
Better in darkness just to feel 
Thy hand 
And follow Thee. 

Joy is like restless day ; but peace 
divine 
Like quiet night : 
Lead me, O Lord, — till perfect 
Day shall shine. 
Through Peace to Light. 



A LEGEND. 



The Monk was preaching .• 
strong his earnest word. 
From the abundance of hU 
heart he spoke. 

And the flame spread, — in every 
soul that heard 
Sorrow and love and good re- 
solve awoke : — 

The poor lay Brother, ignorant 
and old, 

Thanked God that he had heard 
such words of gold. 



" Still let the glory. Lord, be 
thine alone," — 
So prayed the Monk, his heart 
absorbed in praise : 



BIRTHDAY GIFTS. 



241 



»' Thine be the glory : if my 

hands have sown 
The harvest ripened in Thy 

mercy's rays, 
It was Thy blessing, Lord, that 

made my word 
Bring light and love to every soul 

that heard. 



" O Lord, I thank Thee that my 

feeble strength 
Has been so blest ; that sinful 

hearts and cold 
Were melted at my pleading, — 

knew at length 
How sweet Thy service and 

how safe Thy fold : 
While souls that loved Thee saw 

before them rise 
Still holier heights of loving 

sacrifice." - 



So prayed the Monk : when sud- 
denly he heard 
An angel speaking thus : 
" Know, O my Son, 

Thy words had all been vain, 
but hearts were stirred. 
And saints were edified, and 
sinners won. 

By his, the poor lay Brother's 
humble aid 

Who sat upon the pulpit stair 
and pray<5d." 



BIRTHDAY GIFTS. 

FOR A CHILD. 

Why do you look sad, my Min- 
nie'? 

Tell me, darling, — for to-day 
Is the birthday of Our Lady, 

And Her children should be 

What?— You say that all the 
others, 

Alice, Cyril, Efiie, Paul, 
All had got a gift to give Her, 

Only you had none at all. 

Well, dear, that does seem a pity: 
Tell me how it came about 

That the others bring a present, 
And my Minnie comes with- 
out. 

Alice has a lovely Banner, 
All embroidered blue and 
gold : — 

Then you know that sister Alice 
Is so clever and so old. 

Cyril has his two camellias ; 

One deep red, and one pure 
white : 
They will stand at Benediction 

On the Altar steps to-night. 

Effie, steady little Effie, 

Stitching many an hour away, 
She has clothed a little orphan 

All in honor of to-day. 



242 



BIRTHDAY GIFTS. 



With the skill the good Nuns 
taught her 
Angela herself has made 
Two tall stems of such real lilies, 
They do all but smell — and 
fade. 

Then with look of grave im- 
portance 
Comes our quiet little Paul, 
With the myrtle from his gar- 
den : — 
He himself is not as tall. 

Even Baby Agnes, kneeling 
With half-shy, half-solemn air, 

Held up one sweet rose to Mary, 
Lisping out her tiny prayer. 

Well, my Minnie, say, how was 
it? 
Shall I guess? I think I 
know 
All the griefs. Well, I will 
count them : — 
First, your rose-tree would not 
blow; 

Then the fines have been so many 
All the pennies melt away ; 

Then for work — I know my 
Minnie 
Cares so very much for play. 

That these little clumsy fingers 
Scarcely yet have learnt to sew. 

Still less all the skilful fancies 
Angela and Alice know. 



Yet my Minnie can't be treated 
Quite as Baby was to-day, 

When Mamma or Alice gave her 
Something just to give away. 

Well, my darling, there are many 
Who have neither time not 
skill, 

Gold nor silver, yet they offer 
Gifts to Mary if they will. 

There are ways — Our Lady 
knows them, 
And Her children all should 
know 
How to find a flower for Mary 
Underneath the deepest snow ; 

How to make a lovely garland, 
Winter though it be and cold ; 

How to buy the rarest offering, 
Costing — something — but 
not gold ; 

How to buy, and buy it dearly, 
Gifts that She will love to take; 

Nor to grudge the cost, but give it 
Cheerfully for Mary's sake. 

Does that seem so strange, my 
darling ? 
Nay, dear, it is noticing new ; 
All can give Her noble pres- 
ents, — 
Shall I tell you of a few ? 

What were those the Magi offered, 
Frankincense and gold anvJ 
myrrh : — 



BIRTHDAY GIFTS. 



243 



Minnie thinks that Saints and 
Monarchs 
Are quite different from her ! 

. . . Sometimes it is hard to listen 
To a word unkind or cold 

And to smile a loving answer ; 
Do it — and you give Her 
Gold. 

Thoughts of Her in work or 
playtime, 
Those small grains of incense 
rare, 
Cast upon a burning censer. 
Rise in perfumed clouds of 
prayer. 

There are sometimes bitter fan- 
cies, 
Little murmurs that will stir 
Even a loving heart ; — but crush 
them 
And you give Our Lady myrrh. 

Give your little crosses to her, 
Which each day, each hour 
befall ; 

They remind Her of Her Jesus, 
So she loves them best of all. 



Some seem very poor and worth- 
less, 
Yet however small and slight. 
Given to her by one who loves 
her. 
They are precious in her sight. 



One may be so hard to carry 
That your hands will bleed 
and smart : — 

Go and take it to Her Altar, 
Go and place it in her heart; 

Check your tears and try to love 
it, 
Love it as His sacred will : 
So you set the cross with jewels, 
Make your gift more precious 
still. 

There are souls — alas ! too 
many — 

Who forget that Jesus died. 
Who forget that sin forever 

Is the lance to pierce His side. 

Hearts that turn away from Je- 
sus; 
Sins that scourge Him and be- 
tray ; 
Cold and cruel souls that even 
Crucify Him day by day. 

Ah ! poor sinners ! Mary loves 
them. 
And she knows no royal gen\ 
Half so noble or so precious 
As the prayer you say for 
them : 



Or resign some little pleasure 
Give it her instead, to win 

Help for some poor soul in peril 
Grace for some poor heart in 
sin, 



244 



A BEGGAR. 



Mercy for poor sinners, — plead- 
ing 
For their souls as for your 
own ; — 
So you make a crown of jewels 
Fit to lay before Her throne. 

Flowers, — why I should never 
finish 

If I tried to count them too, — 
If I told you how to know them. 

In what garden-plot they grew. 

Yet I think my darling guesses 
They are emblems, and we 
trace 

In the rarest and the loveliest 
Acts of love and gifts of grace. 



Modest violets, meek snow-drops, 
Holy lilies white and pure, 

Faithful tendrils — herbs for heal- 
ing— 
If they only would endure ! 



And they will, — such flowers 
fade not ; 

They are not of mortal birth ; 
And such garlands given to Mary 

Die not like the gifts of Earth. 



Well, my Minnie, can you tell 
me 

You have still no gift to lay 
At the feet of your dear Mother, 

Any hour, any day ? 



Give Her now — to-day — for- 
ever, 
One great gift, — the first, the 
best, — 
Give your heart to Her, and ask 
her 
How to give her all the rest. 



A BEGGAE. 

I BEG of you, I beg of you, my 
brothers. 
For my need is very sore ; 
Not for gold and not for silver 
do I ask you, 
But for something even more : 
From the depths of your hearts 
pity let it be — 
Pray for me. 

I beg of you whose robes of ra- 
diant whiteness 
Have been kept without a 
stain ; 
Of you who, stung to death by 
serpent Pleasure, 
Found the healing Angel 
Pain : 
Whether holy or forgiven you 
may be — 

Pray for me. 

I beg of you calm souls whose 
wondering pity 
Looks at paths you never trod; 



LINKS WITH HEAVEN. 



245 



I beg of you who suffer — for all 

sorrow 

Must be very near to God — 

And the need is even greater 

than you see — 

Pray for me. 

I beg of you, O children, for He 
loves you. 
And He loves your prayers the 
best: 
Fold your little hands together, 
and ask Jesus 
That the weary may have rest, 
That a bird caught in a net may 
be set free — 

Pray for me. 

I beg of you who stand before 
the Altar, 
Whose anointed hands up- 
raise 
All the sin and all the sorrow of 
the Ages, 
All the love and all the praise. 
And the glory which was always 
and shall be — 
Pray for me. 

^ [ beg of you — of you who 
through Life's battle 
Our dear Lord has set apart, 
That while we who love the peril 
are made captives, 
Still the Church may have its 
Heart 
Which is fettered that our souls 
may be set free — 
Pray for me. 



I beg of you, I beg of you, my 
brothers, 
For an alms this very day ; 
I am standing on your doorstep 
as a Beggar 
Who will not be turned away, 
And the Charity you give my 
soul shall be — 
Pray for me ! 



LINKS WITH HEAVEN. 

Our God in Heaven, from that 
holy place. 
To each of us an Angel guide 
has given ; 
But Mothers of dead children 
have more grace, — 
For they give Angels to their 
God and Heaven. 



How can a Mother's heart feel 
cold or weary 
Knowing her dearer self safe, 
happy, warm '? 
How can she feel her road too 
dark or dreary, 
Who knows her treasure shel- 
tered from the storm ? 



How can she sin ? Our hearts 
may be unheeding, 
Our God forgot, our holy 
Saints defied ; 



246 



HOMELESS. 



But can a mother hear her dead 
child pleading, 
And thrust those little angel 
hands aside ? 



Those little hands stretched down 
to draw her ever 
Nearer to God by mother 
love : — we all 
Are blind and weak, yet surely 
she can never. 
With such a stake in Heaven, 
fail or fall. 



She knows that when the mighty 
Angels raise 
Chorus in Heaven, one little 
silver tone 
Is hers forever, that one little 
praise, 
One little happy voice, is all 
her own. 



We may not see her sacred crown 
of honor. 
But all the Angels flitting to 
and fro 
Pause smiling as they pass, — 
they look upon her 
. As mother of an angel whom 
they know. 



One whom they left nestled at 
Mary's feet, — 
The children's place in Heav- 
en, — who softly sings 



A little chant to please them, slow 
and sweet, 
Or smiling strokes their little 
folded wings ; 

Or gives them Her white lilies 
or Her beads 
To play with : — yet, in spite 
of flower or song, 
They often lift a wistful look that 
pleads 
And asks Her why their moth- 1 
er stays so long. 

Then our dear Queen makes an- 
swer she will call 
Her very soon : meanwhile they 
are beguiled 
To wait and listen while She tells 
them all 
A story of Her Jesus as a child. 

Ah, Saints in Heaven may pray 
with earnest will 
And pity for their weak and 
erring brothers : 
Yet there is prayer in Heaven 
more tender still, — 
The little Children pleading 
for their Mothers. 



HOMELESS. 

It is cold, dark midnight, yet lis- 
ten 
To that patter of tiny feet ! 



HOMELESS, 



247 



Is it one of your dogs, fair lady, 
Who whines in the bleak cold 
street ? 
Is it one of your silken spaniels 
Shut out in the snow and the 
sleet ? 

My dogs sleep warm in their bas- 
kets, 
Safe from the darkness and 
snow ; 
All the beasts in our Christian 
England, 
Find pity wherever they go — 
(Those are only the homeless 
children 
Who are wandering to and fro ) . 

Look out in-the gusty darkness, — 
I have seen it again and again. 
That shadow, that flits so slowly 
Up and down past the window- 
pane : — 
It is surely some criminal lurk- 
ing 
Out there in the frozen rain ? 

Nay, our criminals all are shel- 
tered, 
They are pitied and taught 
and fed : 
That is only a sistez-woman 
Who has got neither food nor 
bed, — 



And the Night cries, " Sin to be 
living," 
And the Kiver cries, " Sin to 
be dead/' 

Look out at that farthest corner 
Where the wall stands blank 
and bare : — 
Can that be a pack which a Ped- 
ler 
Has left and forgotten there ? 
His goods lying out unsheltered 
Will be spoilt by the damp 
night-air. 

Nay ; — goods in our thrifty 
England 
Are not left to lie and grow 
rotten. 
For each man knows the market 
value 
Of silk or woollen or cotton. . . 
But in counting the riches of Eng- 
land 
I think our Poor are forgotten. 

Our Beasts and our Thieves and 
our Chattels 
Have weight for good or for ill ; 
But the Poor are only His image, 
His presence. His word. His 
will ; — 
And so Lazarus lies at our door- 
step 
And Dives neglects him still. 



